


i know a place we can run

by angstinspace



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Keith is a prince, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Roman Holiday AU, Side Hunay - Freeform, Slow Burn, Tourism, broganes, does it count as a slow burn if it mostly takes place in one day, klance, lance is a journalist, side Romellura, side adashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 77,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24807667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstinspace/pseuds/angstinspace
Summary: “So then, why don’t you do it?”Lance asked the question so casually, like he thought the answer was obvious. Not that Keith could blame him, since Lance didn’t really know what the circumstances were. As far as he knew, Keith was just some college kid skipping school and not a runaway prince.All Keith could muster was an intelligible, “Huh?”“I don’t know about the walking-in-the-rain part,” Lance said, gesturing towards the blue sky, “but all those other things are entirely doable. So why don’t we do them? You and me.”Keith, a sheltered prince, runs away to Altea City to escape his overwhelming schedule and stifling lifestyle. There he meets Lance, a reporter who is secretly trying to gather information about Keith and write an article that could make or break his career. When Lance offers to show Keith around the city, Keith happily obliges. But as they spend more time together, it becomes increasingly difficult for both of them to hide their identities––or to deny that they are developing a special connection with each other.(aka, a Klance “Roman Holiday” AU)
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 101
Kudos: 342





	i know a place we can run

**Author's Note:**

> ah yes it’s me, materializing out of nowhere to drop a novel-length klance fic and then disappear into the abyss again lol 
> 
> anyway ... i wanted to start off by saying that if you’ve never seen “roman holiday” that is totally fine, you can still totally understand and enjoy this fic! although the events are based on the movie, i took a lot of liberties with it and it’s my own spin on the story etc. etc. so yeah you don’t need to have seen the original movie that inspired it.
> 
> however, if you’d like a bit of context: in a nutshell, it’s a 1953 film starring audrey hepburn and gregory peck, about a princess who escapes her duties for a day to explore rome with a journalist. it’s very sweet and romantic and funny and one of my favorite movies ever. 
> 
> i wanted to write a klance au of it for _ages_ , i’m talking like … i started considering the idea like three years ago. but i had so many other wips i never thought it would happen. then, towards the very end of 2018 i was like “fuck it, i’m gonna do it” and started writing it on a whim expecting it’d be a fairly short fic. and, well … that certainly didn’t turn out to be the case haha. 
> 
> for a long time this was kind of a side project that i would work on between other things, but in the past couple months i was suddenly hit with inspiration for it and … lo and behold, it is finally complete. *wipes away a single tear* especially during such a rough year, working on this fic has been a big source of comfort for me, and i can only hope that reading it will bring some comfort to others as well. 
> 
> i just want to thank all of my friends for always being so supportive, for helping me with ideas, and for always encouraging and inspiring me. it truly means a lot and i could not have finished writing this without you! and thank you to [jessie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parchmints), [noelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/generichero), [ang](https://twitter.com/stelllalights), and [miranda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221bdisneystreet) for beta’ing. as always your feedback (and enthusiastic screaming/keysmashing and comments that just say “GAY”) is utterly invaluable. 
> 
> a couple of small content warnings/notes:
> 
> \- there’s an instance of a character using a combination of sleep medication and alcohol irresponsibly––nothing like, extreme, but yeah. don’t try this at home, kids!  
> \- also just a general warning for a few mentions of alcohol.  
> \- for those of you who have seen “roman holiday”: i changed a number of things but most notably the ending (cuz as much as i love the movie … i do not love the ending lol). so yeah, idk if anyone cares, but the ending is a little different and much happier bc i am a huge sap lmao.  
> \- but yeah THERE’S A HAPPY ENDING DON’T WORRY! 
> 
> anyway this has gotten entirely too long. so without any further ado, i hope you enjoy this fic and thank you for reading! 
> 
> (title comes from “[i know a place](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-t5gGm3NWU4)” by muna. also, i made a playlist for this fic which you can listen to [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Yw9HAikrTI8M65VMrShkf?si=rUCOspwRSWacbSABrNMQRQ)!)

NEWS FLASH

_Daybreak News brings you a special coverage of Prince Takashi and Prince Akira’s arrival in Altea, which is the final stop on their goodwill tour around the Iodrelan peninsula. The Galran princes received a warm welcome from King Alfor and Princess Allura today, as thousands gathered to cheer the union of two of Iodrela’s oldest ruling families._

_The princes’ whirlwind trip has spanned several nations in a matter of days—including Arus, Olkarion, and Taujeer. At each location, the princes have made public appearances and attended charity events on behalf of their parents, Queen Krolia and King Ryou of Daibazaal._

_Finally the princes have landed in Altea, where their visit was marked by a celebratory parade early this morning. Prince Takashi showed no strain of their travels, waving to the onlooking crowd. Prince Akira, the younger of the two, was more withdrawn during the event, but he spared a few smiles for the cheering throng._

_While Takashi has made numerous speeches over the course of their tour, expressing his concerns for a wide range of pressing matters, Akira has yet to step into the spotlight. However, he is expected to attend a press conference tomorrow morning. This will hopefully shed some light on some of his views in regards to improving the relations between the countries of Iodrela—specifically between Altea and Daibazaal, given their tumultuous past. We hope that the princes’ appearance in Altea marks a new era of peace between the nations._

_A formal reception and ball are being held tonight at the Castle of Lions to celebrate the princes’ arrival._

  


* * *

  


If Keith had to shake hands with one more person, he was going to scream.

The reception started with all four present royals—himself, Shiro, Alfor, and Allura—standing in a row at the front of the room, while a long line of people walked up one by one to greet them. Alfor’s royal advisor—a man named Coran, who had the most impressive mustache Keith had ever seen—called out each attendee’s name and which country they hailed from as they stepped onto the platform. 

It wasn’t long until the names and faces blurred together, and Keith started to feel a strong urge to bolt from the room. Instead he had no choice but to stand there for what felt like an eternity, shaking each offered hand and bowing his head in formal greeting. 

He’d always found these types of events uncomfortable and humiliating. Nothing bothered him more than being the center of attention—and although he had become fairly good at avoiding the spotlight at all costs, it was difficult to avoid public scrutiny in his position. 

At least right now, he was flanked by Shiro and Allura, who both had enough natural charm to mask his own awkwardness. If anyone noticed Keith’s pained expression, or the way he subtly tried to itch the back of his right ankle with his left foot and almost fell over in the process, no one remarked on it.

As soon as the last couple made their way to the platform and had moved down the line of royals, the reception came to an end and the beginning of the ball was announced. Keith soon found himself on the fringes of the crowded hall, staying as far away from the marbled dance floor as possible. If there was one thing he found more embarrassing than socializing, it was _dancing_. 

It was hard to escape, though, when guests kept seeking him out. He had lost Shiro somewhere in the crowd so he had no one to hide behind, as one stranger after another stepped forward to shake hands with him _again_ , to inquire about his travels, to congratulate him on the success of the goodwill tour—which, Keith kept insisting, should be credited to his brother rather than himself.

He tried to keep each conversation short, making up hasty excuses to slip away, but it wasn’t long until Keith’s throat started to hurt from all the small talk. He managed to find a secluded corner where he earned a few minutes of peace, nervously swirling the wine in his glass and taking in the sight of the room—the high arching ceilings, the enormous crystal chandeliers, the marble statues standing in alcoves along the walls. 

It all felt distant and surreal, like something out of a fairytale. One where Keith was painfully out of place.

“Prince Akira?” 

The voice startled Keith out of his reverie, and he turned to find Princess Allura standing next to him. Unlike Keith, she looked like she belonged in this storybook world—dressed in a flowing lilac gown that complemented her dark skin tone, her cloud of silvery hair nearly reaching her waist. The golden circlet around her forehead caught the light, matching the bangles on her wrists, and a pair of violet jewels dangled from her ears.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said.

Keith hadn’t realized the surprise had shown on his face, and he attempted to school his expression back to something neutral. “I … it’s okay.” He cleared his throat. “How are you?” 

He nearly winced at his own ineptitude. After spending his whole life attending these types of events, he thought he might’ve become better at starting conversations.

“Very well, thank you.” If Allura was bothered by Keith’s lack of articulation, she was very good at hiding it. A bright, friendly smile lit up her face. “I trust your travels have treated you well?”

Keith shrugged, taking another sip of wine. “It’s been … nice. I like helping people, volunteering and stuff. Going to all these social events though, I’m a little …” 

He snapped his mouth shut, heat rushing to his face as he realized it sounded like he was insulting the party that Allura and her father were hosting. _Shit_. Maybe he’d had more wine than he’d realized. 

To his surprise, Allura chuckled. “It does get a bit dull, doesn’t it?”

Keith blinked before he smiled back. He’d almost forgotten that he and Allura were around the same age, due to the dignified way she held herself, but right now he could see the youth in her face—the tilt of her smile and the amused glint in her eye.

She offered an arm out to Keith, who stared at it in bewilderment. 

“I—uh.” He took a small step backwards. “I’m sorry, I’m not much of a dancer.”

“That’s quite alright. I was actually hoping we could take a walk out into the courtyard. If you have a moment, of course.”

“Oh. Sure. I mean, that—that’d be great.”

Trying to save himself from putting his foot in his mouth any further, Keith put his mostly-empty wine glass down on a nearby table and linked his arm through Allura’s.

They navigated their way through the crowd, only stopping at a few intervals as Allura cheerfully greeted some of the guests. But she seemed to be in a rush to get outside, keeping her pace brisk and her head held high. 

Finally, they reached a set of stained glass doors, which Allura pushed open. The warm night air washed over them, and Keith let out an involuntary sigh of gratitude that they were finally free from the throng inside. 

“It’s lovely out tonight, isn’t it?” Allura commented as they paced down the cobblestone path. A few other partygoers were scattered through the courtyard, situated on marble benches or leaning against the large trees or the edges of the fountains. Snatches of conversation and tinkling laughter filled the air.

Keith’s eyes fell on a garden to their left, and Allura stopped to observe the flowers with a wistful expression. 

“Juniberries,” she explained to Keith, indicating the bright magenta blossoms. “My mother’s favorite.”

Her voice had grown quiet. Keith knew that the Altean queen had passed away several years earlier, and he tried to think of something coherent to express his condolences.

Instead, all he could manage was, “I’m sorry.”

Allura looked up at him, her smile weak but appreciative. “Thank you,” she said, and it sounded genuine. She turned her attention back to the flowers. “I miss her every single day. But you know, it’s strange. I often feel as if she’s still here, somehow. Especially here in the garden. She used to love to read next to the pond.”

She gestured towards a bench in the near distance, beneath a weeping willow. A small pond lay underneath it, the water as still as glass and glowing silver in the moonlight.

“I can see why,” Keith said, observing their serene surroundings. “It’s really nice out here. Quiet.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Allura offered him another friendly smile, and continued to lead him down the path.

After a few paces, Allura released Keith’s arm and linked her hands behind her back. They were both silent. The only sounds were the murmurs of conversation amongst the other guests in the courtyard, and the muffled music seeping through the palace walls.

“Prince Akira …” Allura started to say.

“Keith,” said Keith, and then cleared his throat. “I mean, uh … You can just call me Keith.” He normally reserved the nickname for close friends and family—it wasn’t even public knowledge, really—but Allura seemed trustworthy and easy to talk to.

“Keith, then,” Allura corrected herself. “I was hoping we could have a minute to speak privately.”

“Oh? Um, okay.” Keith tried not to seem fazed, although the princess’s sudden change in tone made him want to turn around and run the other way. “About what?”

“Just about the significance of your arrival here,” Allura said. “I hate to bring up politics, as I’m sure you’ve had quite enough of that in the past few days, but …” She bit her lip. “I suppose we must address it at some point. Our countries have not had the most … amicable history.”

Keith had known that sooner or later the subject would come up. It was inevitable, seeing as it was one of the main reasons he and his brother were making an appearance in Altea in the first place. But as much as he’d internally rehearsed the best way to broach the topic, he had yet to come up with anything that didn’t sound empty and tactless. 

“Right,” he said at last, stiffly. 

“I’m not trying to be confrontational, mind you,” Allura went on. “I’m merely saying, I hope that in your short stay here you can learn about my country, and that it will be significant to you when you leave.”

Keith wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at—but the apprehensive look on her face told him that whatever she wanted him to learn, it was very important to her.

“I’ll definitely try,” Keith said. It was the closest thing to a promise that he could manage. “I’m not going to be here for very long, but … I’ll learn as much as I can.”

There was a flicker of something in Allura’s eyes that Keith couldn’t read. It looked almost like disappointment, but it was drowned out a moment later as she smiled at him again.

“I appreciate it,” she said. “At the very least, I hope we can be friends.”

That was something Keith felt more certain about, and he smiled back. “Friends,” he agreed. Allura held out her hand and Keith shook it, like they were sealing an official deal. 

“Allura?” a voice called out across the courtyard just then.

Keith and Allura both looked up in surprise, to see a figure standing in one of the open doorways to the ballroom. As Keith’s eyes adjusted to the light, he saw it was a young woman—probably around the same age as him and Allura—with long, pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes. 

“ _There_ you are,” she exclaimed excitedly. She lifted up the hem of her pastel blue gown, scurrying down the path towards them. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Romelle?” Allura’s voice went up several pitches, her eyes widening right before the other girl embraced her tightly. She stiffened before returning the hug with a soft smile. “Oh, it’s been too long!”

“It truly has,” Romelle agreed. She took a step back, still holding Allura’s hands, and kissed her on both cheeks. It wasn’t until then that she seemed to even notice Keith was standing there. “Who is your friend?”

Allura failed to speak for a moment, reaching up to absently touch the spot on her cheek where Romelle had kissed her. Then she seemed to come to her senses, clearing her throat and forcing a smile back onto her face.

“Oh, my apologies for not introducing you straightaway. Romelle, this is Prince Akira of Daibazaal.”

Romelle gasped. “Of course!” She smacked a hand against her forehead and then curtsied hastily, giving a brief bow of her head. “I’m so sorry, your highness. It is dark out here and I didn’t recognize you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—it’s okay,” Keith stammered. 

Romelle extended her hand. “I know we met earlier this evening, but … pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Romelle, princess of Oriande.” 

Keith couldn’t help but return her genuine smile, reaching out to politely clasp her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Romelle stepped back, slipping her arm through Allura’s. Allura tensed at the contact, a dazed look seeping into her eyes like her soul had detached from her body.

“Shall we take a walk around the garden?” Romelle asked.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna go,” Keith said, sensing the two princesses wanted some time alone. “I should go to bed soon, since … you know, big day tomorrow.” 

“Oh, right,” said Allura. “The press conference! I very much look forward to attending.”

Keith tried not to wince. He had all sorts of feelings about the impending press conference, and none of them were positive. But he still managed a smile. 

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yes, see you soon!” Romelle said, waving goodbye. “Sleep well!”

Keith gave one more polite nod to the two princesses, then turned around to walk back towards the palace.

  


* * *

  


Once the party had finally dissipated, Keith was escorted to the guest room where he’d be staying. A servant handed him a set of folded pajamas and then departed. 

Holding the pajamas against his chest, Keith shut the double doors behind him and released a lengthy sigh. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes as the day’s events passed through his mind in a bright and hazy blur—stepping off of the plane first thing in the morning, enduring the long parade through the center of Altea City, arriving at the Castle of Lions, all the royals and diplomats he’d had to make conversation with. 

He dropped the pajamas at the foot of the king-sized bed, looking around the room. The ceiling was so high up that Keith practically had to tilt his head all the way back to see it. It was held up at its corners by wide pillars, which tapered off at the top into intricate carvings of birds, angels, and flowers. An ornate carpet spread across the floor at the foot of the bed, and a glittering crystal chandelier hung over it. The wallpaper was made of a delicate silvery material that caught the light and made the whole room seem to glow. 

Everything around him had such an antique and ethereal appearance that Keith was afraid to touch any of it. Even though he’d been in countless palaces before, there was something in particular about the Castle of Lions that felt magical and unreal, like any second Keith would wake up and discover it had been a dream.

He paced the length of the room until he reached one of the windows, which were so tall that they spanned from the floor to the ceiling. Heavy, dark blue curtains obscured the outside, and Keith reached out to push one of them aside. 

The reflection of the interior of the room made it difficult to see outside, but Keith was able to get a better look as he leaned closer to the glass. From the height of the tower where his guest room was located, he could see the city on the horizon—lights glittering like a band of gold across the darkness. He pushed the window open a crack, breathing in the warm night air. 

As he gazed out across the distance, an ache of longing unfurled in his chest. As much as he loved traveling to new places, he’d never really had the opportunity to _explore_ any of them. He was constantly under watch, always needed to make appearances at this meeting or that event. Schedules were outlined for him in rigid little boxes, allowing no room to escape. 

Keith loosened his tie, feeling like he was suffocating. Then he stepped back from the window, shrugging his black suit jacket off and tossing it at the foot of the bed. 

Right then, he heard footsteps outside his door, a slight scuffling noise. Then three knocks, deliberate and succinct. 

“Yeah?” Keith called out, and then cleared his throat. “I mean, uh … you can come in.”

The doors opened and Shiro stood there, poking his head in. He turned to nod to the two Blade members who had escorted him. “Thank you, gentlemen. I should be back out in just a few minutes.”

Shiro closed the door behind him and turned back to face Keith with a warm smile. He was still dressed in the dark gray suit he’d worn to the party, somehow looking perfectly put-together despite their long day—not to mention all the traveling they’d done in the past week.

Keith felt exhausted and unkempt in comparison. But then again, that was always how he’d felt next to his older brother. Shiro possessed every natural charm that Keith lacked; he was practically the face of the Galran royal family, constantly delivering heartfelt speeches with ease, winning awards for his charity work, plus landing in countless “Most Beautiful People” lists in celebrity magazines. 

Keith, meanwhile, was typically overlooked by the press except when they were describing him with adjectives such as _withdrawn_ and _reclusive_. With the way his existence went ignored, he often thought about how he could probably walk out into public in broad daylight, and no one would even recognize him.

“So,” Shiro said, “how are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. Fine,” Keith answered, crossing his arms. “Why?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering, since we haven’t really gotten to talk in the past few hours.” Shiro ambled over to an upholstered armchair next to the bed, lowering himself into it with a deep sigh. “My feet are _killing_ me.”

At least that was one thing Keith could relate to. “Same here,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He reached down to untie his shoes and kick them aside. 

“Anyway, I know you probably want to go to sleep as much as I do,” Shiro continued, “but we should probably go over tomorrow’s schedule.”

Keith tensed at the world _schedule_ , already filled with dread as Shiro took a tablet out from under his arm and started scrolling through a list on the screen.

“Okay, here we go. Eight-thirty, we eat breakfast with Alfor and Allura and the rest of the Castle staff. At nine, we leave for the National Altean Automotive Works, where they’ll present each of us with an antique car.”

“‘Thank you,’” Keith rehearsed saying in a monotone, fiddling with the end of his tie.

“Which we will politely decline,” Shiro said with an admonishing look.

Keith rolled his eyes. “‘No, thank you,’” he corrected himself. 

“At ten thirty,” Shiro continued, “the Inspection of Food and Agriculture Organization will present us with an olive tree.”

“‘No, thank you.’” 

“Which we _will_ accept.”

“What? What the hell are we even going to do with an olive tree?” 

Shiro shrugged. “Grow olives? Anyway, at ten fifty-five we’ll visit the Newfoundling Shelter for Homeless Youth. I’ll give my speech there.” He tapped at the screen a few times, making a note. “Eleven forty-five, we come back here to rest for a little while. … Wait, no. That’s wrong. At eleven forty-five, you meet with the press.” 

Keith’s stomach dropped at the mention of the press conference, his hands tightening on his knees. 

“At twelve-thirty—” 

“Ugh,” Keith groaned, leaning over to bury his face in his hands. “Shiro, can you just … just _stop_?”

There was a moment of silence before Keith lifted his head again, scrubbing his hands over his face as he glared down at the carpet. 

“Keith,” Shiro said. “Listen, I know you’re nervous about the press conference—” 

“It’s not that.” Keith got to his feet, turning to glower at the wall. “I mean, yeah, it’s a part of it, but it’s—it’s _everything_. I can’t do it, Shiro.”

He hated the way his voice nearly cracked on the words, hated the way his vision had started to swim and a lump had formed in his throat. His hands formed loose fists at his sides as he drew in a shaky breath, trying to get himself under control. But he couldn’t stop the sudden, desperate panic that had clawed its way up his spine. 

A moment passed before he heard the creak of footsteps across the floor. Then Shiro rested a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey. I get it,” he said. “All this stuff isn’t easy for you—being in the spotlight, public speaking … I know it’s hard. But this is the last day of the tour, Keith. You can get through one more day, and then we’ll be headed back to Daibazaal.” 

Keith’s jaw clenched. He knew the easiest thing was to let it go, to tell Shiro he’d be fine and be done with it. Instead, he found himself roughly shrugging Shiro’s hand off his shoulder and whirling around to glare at him.

“And then what?” he said with a bitter scoff. “It’s never really over, is it? Yeah, maybe we’ll be done with this one tour, but there’s always going to be another one. More events to go to, more speeches to give, more schedules to follow. I’m just—” 

He groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sick of feeling like my life is being laid out for me, and I can’t _choose_ to do anything.”

Shiro stood stiffly a few feet away, like he wasn't sure what to do. “That’s not—” 

“It _is_ true. You just don’t get it, because all this stuff comes easily to you.” 

He stopped, immediately knowing he had taken it too far. He saw the hurt on Shiro's face, but he couldn't even bring himself to apologize. All he could do was cross his arms and look away, knowing that he was acting like a bratty teenager but not having the energy to take back what he had said. 

"We've both sacrificed a lot, you know," Shiro said after a tense silence. "I know it isn't easy, because we didn't choose any of this. But the truth is, people look up to us and depend on us. We need to be there for them."

The words sounded rehearsed—after all, they'd been over this before—but Keith knew Shiro's sentiments were genuine. Even though he was only trying to help, Keith wasn't sure he could see things the same way his brother did. He understood that they needed to use their status for the purpose of helping others, that they needed to be a beacon of hope and all that. It was just that he didn't know _how,_ especially when he felt like he could barely help himself.

A muscle worked in Keith's jaw as he debated over whether to continue this argument or not. But he decided it wasn’t worth it. They were both tired, and he didn't want to say anything more hurtful than he already had. 

"I know," he said, uncrossing his arms and letting them drop to his sides. “I’m sorry. I think I just … need some rest.”

Shiro didn’t look entirely convinced, but he seemed to sense that Keith wanted him to leave the room. “Alright,” he said. “I hope you get a good night’s sleep. Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I don’t know.” Keith rubbed his forehead. “Haven’t been sleeping well.” That was putting it mildly, as he’d been having such terrible insomnia over the past week that getting even a couple of hours of sleep at night was a miracle.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro said, frowning in concern. “Have the new sleep meds helped at all?”

“Not really, but maybe I’ll try again.” 

“Okay, just be careful. That stuff can be intense.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” 

Shiro gave Keith one more pat on the shoulder and a half-hearted smile. “You’re gonna be great tomorrow, kiddo. Trust me.”

Keith didn’t have the energy to tell Shiro not to call him _kiddo_ —he was twenty-two now, not exactly a kid anymore. But he still appreciated the sentiment, and that was really what mattered.

“Thanks, Shiro,” he said quietly. “Good night.”

Once the door closed after Shiro, Keith wandered into the large bathroom adjoining the guest room. 

It was so pristinely white and sparkling clean that Keith squinted as he looked around. A large bathtub with golden lions’ feet stood to his left, and he contemplated taking a bath to wind down. But he only got as far as loosening his tie and untucking his shirt before he changed his mind. Maybe he would just go right to bed. 

He settled for splashing water on his face a few times, then glaring at himself in the mirror and taking in his disheveled state—tie hanging loose against his chest, white shirt rumpled, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was in disarray and dark circles underlined his eyes. Sniffing, he wiped a bead of water from the tip of his nose. 

His eyes fell on a small orange canister on the countertop—the sleep medication. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, scanning the warning label. It said explicitly not to take it with alcohol but … well, he hadn’t had _that_ much to drink, and it had been a while ago by now. So it was probably fine … right?

Keith weighed his choices and then shrugged one shoulder as he uncapped the canister. He tipped one of the small white pills onto his palm, popped it into his mouth, and washed it down with a swig of water. 

He stood at the counter as if waiting for the medication to take immediate effect, but he felt no difference. It probably wouldn't kick in for a little while. With a deep sigh, he turned on his heel and shuffled out of the bathroom.

The set of pajamas still lay in a folded heap at the foot of the bed, but Keith felt too lazy to change into them. Instead, he flopped backwards onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. 

Minutes ticked by as he waited to fall asleep, but his mind refused to shut itself off. He let his eyes drift shut several times, but each time they would flutter open again. The room only seemed to grow larger and emptier around him.

He thought of the brief glimpse of the glowing city he'd seen through the window, of the narrow streets they'd passed through on their way to the Castle. A deep ache gnawed in his chest, like something was trying to claw its way out—a desperate need to be free from the walls that surrounded him, to be out in the heart of the city where no one could find him. 

The more he thought about it, the more he realized there really wasn't anything stopping him ... besides the Blade members patrolling the Castle grounds, and the sleep medication he'd just taken. But he could probably find a way to avoid the guards, and the medication didn't seem to be doing much of anything. 

Keith chewed his lower lip, weighing his options. He could either lie here all night restlessly tossing and turning, or he could sneak outside and wander the city. He wouldn't be running away _permanently_ , just spending some much-needed time alone and doing whatever he wanted. Only a few hours, he told himself, and he would come back to the palace.

With a sudden excitement singing through his veins, Keith swung his legs over the side of the bed and slipped his feet back into his shoes. He contemplated changing into something more casual, but he was pretty sure he hadn't brought any kind of streetwear. Besides, he feared that if he took the time to find something else to wear, he would chicken out and change his mind.

Sighing resolutely, he paced across the floor to the double doors and tugged them open. 

The doors made a low groaning sound, and Keith winced. But when he poked his head out and looked up and down the long corridor, he saw no sign of any other human beings. Holding his breath, he stepped out into the hallway. 

Keith ducked his head down as if that would hide him from anyone who happened to walk by. He dove into a corner when he thought he heard a noise, then emerged moments later when there was no further sound or movement. 

The journey downstairs was like winding through an abandoned museum. The walls were lined with faded tapestries and enormous portraits, their lifelike eyes seeming to track Keith’s every movement. Suits of antique Altean armor, marble statues, and large decadent vases were also situated throughout the palace. Everything was disturbingly still and silent, only illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windows or the occasional dim overhead light.

Finally, Keith tiptoed all the way down a spiral staircase to the ground floor of the Castle. As he took the last step onto the marbled floor, he spotted the shadow of a figure pacing past the open doorway on the opposite side of the room. He dashed behind a nearby pillar, holding his breath until the guard’s footsteps retreated again. 

He took a few moments to think, since he hadn’t really planned how he was going to escape the Castle unnoticed. After a brief deliberation, he decided that escaping through the kitchen was probably his best bet—he just needed to figure out where exactly that was.

After wandering a few more corridors, Keith finally found his way into the large dining room. He drifted past the long table, looking up at the dangling chandeliers and the ornately painted ceiling as he passed by, before he came to a set of white double doors on the far end.

He hesitated for a single moment—praying that he’d actually found the kitchen and that no one would be there at such a late hour—then carefully pulled the doors open. Although the lights were out, he could make out the faint shapes of elongated counters lining the room, and various pots and pans hanging from the rack on the ceiling … but no people to be seen.

Luckily, he spotted the exit right away—another door at the back corner that looked promising. He crept towards it until he was close enough to reach out and grasp the metal handle. 

He became aware then that there was a muffled rumbling noise coming from the other side: something that sounded like an engine growling. The noise only grew more apparent as he opened the door a crack. 

A warm breeze drifted through the opening, and Keith inhaled it with a thrill of triumph coursing through him. He blinked into the light and found that the door opened into what looked like a loading area. As luck would have it, there was a truck idling right next to the dock. 

Keith took in the sight of the vehicle, which had a small gate at its back through which he could see crates of bottles and stacks of boxes. The driver had just finished loading a crate into the back and was now whistling as he walked around towards the front of the truck.

_I can’t believe I’m doing this_ , Keith thought. But he knew that this was probably his one shot at escaping. Without hesitating a moment longer, he jumped down from the loading dock and sprinted for the van, scrambling up onto the back and vaulting over the gate just as the vehicle started to rumble forward.

He hit the metal floor with a resounding _thud_ , but fortunately the growl of the engine covered it up. Keith had landed a bit roughly on his side, and he wheezed as he picked himself up into a crouching position. Rubbing his aching shoulder, he looked up through the slats in the gate and saw the loading dock retreating into the shadows as the truck pulled away from it.

It wasn’t until then that the reality hit him: he had really gotten away with it, really snuck out of the Castle of Lions in the middle of the night and was now heading to some unknown location in the back of a truck. He couldn’t help but huff out a laugh of disbelief at the absurdity of it. 

He felt a brief inkling of anxiety that he wouldn’t be able to find his way back—but it was soon drowned out by determination. He had made it this far, and there was no turning back now.

As his heartbeat settled to a normal rate, Keith tried to find the most comfortable position he could manage amongst the crowded wooden crates. He found a small space where he could kneel, only jostled slightly by the boxes on either side of him. He raised his head just enough that he could peek over the top of the gate, watching as the landscape changed around him.

It wasn’t long until the truck had rolled down the winding path away from the Castle and across a wide stretch of road towards the heart of Altea City. Soon, tall buildings rose up on either side of them. The truck continued its way through several narrow alleyways before pulling onto the main road. 

Although Keith had been through the center of Altea that morning, it was different to see the city at night—alive with music, laughter, and shouting. Lanterns hung on strings between the buildings and the storefronts glowed with welcoming neon signs. 

There was something fascinating about Altea’s aesthetic—a blend between the ancient and the modern. The streets were lined with electric lights and crowded with cars and motorbikes, but marble statues and cobblestones along the walkways served as a reminder of the city’s age.

Keith watched it go by in wonder, as if observing it through a dream. He felt a little dazed—maybe a lingering effect of the sleep medication—but otherwise there was an electric thrill singing through his veins. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to go out and explore by himself without any sort of supervision, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of all the possibilities. 

The truck came to a rumbling stop at a street corner, waiting for a traffic light, and Keith seized the opportunity to vault over the back gate and jump down to the pavement. A couple driving by on a vespa gave him an odd look, but otherwise no one else seemed to notice—or if they did, they weren't fazed by it. 

Keith dusted his hands off on his shirtfront, started to walk towards the sidewalk and ... _whoa_. He felt dizzy for a second, but he shook it off as he stumbled to the curb. 

Pausing for a moment, he took in his surroundings. He appeared to be in a small plaza, lined around the edges with benches and small trees. A large fountain stood right next to him, with springs of water cascading elegantly down its sides, illuminated with lights. People paraded down the surrounding sidewalks, most of them dressed in colorful attire. 

Keith absorbed it all—the glimmering lights, the thrum of distant music, the smell of food cooking somewhere nearby. He knew he had the choice to go anywhere he wanted, and yet something stopped him. Perhaps it was the sensory overload, or the sheer volume of choices that lay before him, or maybe the fear that someone would recognize him.

All he had to do was start walking, he told himself, and he would figure it out from there. But as soon as he attempted to move forward, another wave of fatigue hit him. It was stronger this time, causing his head to spin and his vision to blur. Keith clutched at the edge of the fountain, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again in an attempt to shake off the feeling—but he was starting to feel an inkling of dread that the sleep medication was taking a harder toll on him than he'd thought. 

Maybe he just needed to find somewhere to sit and wait it out.

Trying to think through his sudden grogginess, Keith looked around the perimeter of the plaza. His gaze fell on a bench by the side of the street, not too far from where he was standing. Although it wasn't a very long distance, it somehow looked like it was miles away. 

Walking towards the bench took a great deal more effort than Keith had expected, but at this point his panicky feeling was slowly edging away under the weight of exhaustion. His limbs felt heavier with each step he took, and the noise and light of the city all ran together like a watercolor painting. 

It seemed to take an eternity before Keith finally reached the bench, reaching out a hand to grip onto it. He was distantly aware of how strange and shaky his body felt, like he could barely control it. In the back of his mind, he knew that this was probably very bad, but the thought was soon drowned out by the persistent fog overtaking the inside of his head. 

The last thing he remembered was sitting down on the bench, and then everything went dark.

  


* * *

  


“Oh, man. I didn’t realize how late it was getting,” Lance groaned, noticing the time on his phone screen. He swirled around the remaining clear liquid in his glass. “This nunvil sure makes you lose track of time, huh?”

“Sure does,” Pidge agreed, taking another swig from her own glass. She reached out to rearrange the playing cards that had been scattered over the table, drawing them together and shuffling them. “You guys wanna play another round?”

“I’m up for it,” said Hunk. “Unless you want to go, Shay.”

Shay shook her head, her large hoop earrings catching the light. “I’d be alright with staying for a bit longer.”

“Well, I’ve gotta go.” Lance let out a dramatic sigh, scooting his stool away from the round table. “Gotta make sure I don’t sleep in tomorrow. Iverson will probably kill me if I’m even a minute late.”

“Ugh, I’m _so_ jealous. I’ve always wanted to go inside the Castle,” said Hunk. “You’re gonna have to tell me everything.”

“You’re going to the Castle?” Shay exclaimed, perking up. 

“Yep!” Lance beamed as he stood up and shrugged his jacket on. “Big press conference.”

Shay tilted her head. “Oh? Who’s speaking at it? Princess Allura?”

“I wish. But, no. One of the princes of Daibazaal.”

“Prince Takashi?”

“Nah, the other one. The one no one talks about.”

“Akira,” Pidge said. She took another sip of her drink. “Good luck. I’ve heard he’s kind of an asshole.”

“I think he’s just _misunderstood_ ,” Hunk countered.

“Well, guess I’ll find out tomorrow,” Lance said with a wink. “See you guys.”

His friends chorused their goodbyes as Lance turned on his heel and started to make his way across the dimly-lit bar. It was starting to get crowded, as more people trickled in from outside to gather around the small tables and situate themselves on barstools.

Lance effortlessly maneuvered between the narrow spaces—a skill he’d mastered in his past year as a journalist, needing to constantly snake his way through crowds to get a quote from someone or to get a better view of an event. 

He soon reached the front of the bar and waved to Rolo, who was wiping down a table nearby. Then he shouldered the door open—pausing to hold it for an entering couple—and walked out into the night. 

The city was just starting to awaken at this late hour, brimming with life and energy. Lance breathed it in as he ambled down the sidewalk. He had always loved Altea City at night. There was something particularly magical about it—the lights, the music, the peals of laughter ringing through the air. Its vibrance seemed to seep through his veins, making him feel like he was glowing from the inside out. Particularly on warm nights like this, it reminded him of home and filled him with bittersweet nostalgia. 

Tonight, however, anxiety trailed alongside him like a shadow. Although he kept a swing in his step and managed a wink or two at some attractive passersby, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the dark cloud looming over him. 

To put it lightly, he was nervous about the next day’s assignment. Although Iverson had been handing more important projects to him in the past month or two, he still constantly regarded Lance’s work with intense scrutiny. Lance could practically feel his own blood pressure double every time he put a new article down on his boss’s desk. 

He knew how fortunate he was to have a job at National Altean News, and he really did _not_ want to mess it up. So with a big assignment like this one hanging over his head, the pressure was on.

He was trying to keep calm about it, though. Sure, attending this press conference was a big deal and he’d been assigned to it on short notice—but hey, he could do this. He just needed to get home, do a bit of research in preparation, and get a good night’s sleep before the big day. Easy enough.

Humming to himself, his hands crammed in his jacket pockets, Lance continued along the cobblestone sidewalk. He had reached the plaza in the center of town, where a large illuminated fountain bubbled cheerfully. Rows of benches stood along the side of the street, and Lance started to approach one of them to wait for a cab. 

… Which was when he noticed, as he drew closer, that someone was slumped over on one of the benches and not moving at all.

The sight gave Lance pause. In his time in the city, he had grown accustomed to seeing people on the street sleeping in odd places. But in this case, something about the way the person was haphazardly draped over the bench didn’t indicate they’d intended to sleep there—more like they’d passed out, which was … worrying.

Lance cautiously walked around to the other side of the bench, so he was standing right over the unmoving person. He couldn’t see their face, since it was buried against their arm, and he tilted over sideways to get a better look. 

The person was a boy who appeared to be around his own age—somewhere in his early twenties. His black hair was long enough that it half-obscured the features of his face, but through the dark strands Lance could see that his eyes were closed.

Standing up straight again, Lance looked up and down the street, but no one else passing by seemed concerned. Lance wondered if maybe he should just let the stranger be, but he had a sour feeling in his gut that something was wrong. 

Finally, he took a deep breath and sat down next to the motionless figure. He reached out to gingerly lay a hand on the boy’s arm. “Uh … hello?” No response. Lance cursed under his breath and then shook the boy by the shoulder, gently at first and then with more urgency. “Hey, can you hear me?”

A tight feeling had started to rise in his throat, and he was about to check if the boy was even breathing … but right then, he heard an irritated groan. The stranger shifted, screwing up his face and blinking drowsily.

Lance’s shoulders sagged as he let out a sigh of relief. “Hey, man. You alright?”

The boy lay there for a few moments, then unsteadily propped himself up on one elbow and rose into a sitting position. “I … what?” he murmured. “What—Where am I?”

“The Central Altean Plaza,” Lance told him, and then anything else he’d been about to say died in his throat, because the boy had turned to look at him and … well. Lance couldn’t help but notice he was attractive, despite his hair and clothes being in disarray. He was dressed in somewhat formal attire, although his white button-down shirt had been untucked and his tie hung half-loosened against his chest. There was something oddly familiar about him, but Lance couldn’t place what it was. His head was too fuzzy from all the nunvil to pursue the curiosity much further.

He raised an eyebrow. “Crazy party?” he guessed, looking the boy up and down.

He received a blank stare in return. The boy still looked half-asleep, his eyelids drooping. “Hmm, no. Party was nice. Talked to the princess. She seemed cool …” 

“The … what?” Lance said, certain he’d misheard. But the boy’s head dipped towards his chest then, his eyes fluttering closed, and Lance grabbed him by the arm to stop him from falling on his face. “Whoa, hey. Stay awake, man.”

The boy shook him off, squinting at Lance in irritation. “I’m awake,” he insisted, although the words were a barely-coherent grumble. “Who’re you?”

“Uh, the name’s Lance. And you are … ?”

The boy blinked slowly, like he had to concentrate to remember what his own name was. “Keith.”

Man, he had to be _super_ messed up to barely remember his name. Lance bit his lip, trying to decide what on earth he should do about this situation. It wasn’t like he was obligated to help this guy who was evidently intoxicated out of his mind. But then again, he didn’t want to leave Keith to drown in his own vomit. 

“Okay, Keith. Is there someone I can call to come pick you up? Or, I don’t know, you wanna go grab a coffee or something?” _Wait_. Shit, that had sounded like— “Just ‘cause, you know, the caffeine might help with the …” Lance stopped, realizing he was probably making things worse—plus he’d just remembered how late it was and that probably no coffee places were open at this hour. 

None of it seemed to be getting through to Keith, anyway. He kept staring at Lance as if he’d just spoken in another language.

“I—” Lance started to say, but he stopped when he spotted a cab rumbling down the street. He waved frantically to flag it down, and luckily the driver saw him in time to pull over to the curb.

Lance hesitated, looking from Keith to the idling cab and back again. “Look, man. You can take this cab if you want. I can wait for another one. You should get home.”

“Hhnm,” Keith murmured incoherently, then slumped against Lance’s side. 

Lance nearly toppled over at the sudden weight, but managed to keep himself upright as he tried to help Keith sit up again. Keith remained limp, his head lolling heavily on Lance’s shoulder. 

“Hey, Keith? Buddy?” Lance tried, but he received no answer. He let out a short, frustrated sigh. “Christ.” 

“Hey!” the cab driver yelled, leaning out of the window. “You getting in or what?”

“I’m … yeah! Just a sec,” Lance called back, smiling apologetically. He made a split-second decision and took Keith by the arm, slinging it over his shoulders. “Alright, just … Come with me, okay? We’ll figure out how to get you home.”

Keith didn’t resist, leaning against Lance as they got to their feet. “Mm … ‘kay,” he slurred. 

They made it the short distance to the cab, where Lance opened the door and ushered Keith inside. Keith slid into the backseat and Lance climbed in after him, just as Keith swayed to the side and Lance had to grab his shoulder and hold him up.

The cab driver gave them a narrow-eyed look in the rearview mirror. “If your friend hurls in my cab, you both get out.”

“He won’t,” Lance promised. He nudged Keith’s arm. “Right, Keith?” 

“Huh?” Keith said.

Although that wasn’t the response Lance had hoped for, the driver seemed too impatient to care. His hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Where do you want me to take you?” 

“Good question. Where do you want to be dropped off, Keith?”

Keith slumped back against the seat. “Mm … dunno.”

“Well, where do you live?”

“Far away.”

Lance sighed. “Okay, give me a hint. Are you staying somewhere nearby?” 

“Castle of Lions,” Keith murmured, eyes drifting shut again. 

“Very funny,” said Lance. “Now really, where do you—oh, come on. Keith? _Keith_.” 

He gently slapped at Keith’s cheek, which heeded no result. 

Meanwhile, the driver was practically seething in the front seat. “Look, you’re wasting my time. Either tell me where to go, or—” 

“Fine, fine,” Lance said. “I mean … I’m sorry, sir. Could you take us to the corner of Wellfield and Rosebery, please?”

“Wellfield and Rosebery it is.” The driver jerked on the steering wheel to pull away from the curb.

Lance slouched, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. He was starting to get a pounding headache, and that combined with everything else that was happening was really the _last_ thing he needed right now. 

He let his hand drop into his lap again and snuck another glance at Keith. It was somewhat difficult to see in the dimness of the cab, but he caught glimpses of the other boy’s face in the flashes of passing streetlights. He appeared to be sleeping again, head tilted back and eyes closed as he snored softly. 

A few minutes later, they pulled up to the street corner near the apartment building where Lance lived. Keith still hadn’t moved, and Lance reached over to shake him by the shoulder. 

“Hey—Hey, Keith.”

“Hmm?” Keith’s eyelids fluttered open a crack, but he looked even more bewildered than he had before.

“Look …” Lance reached into his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. He took Keith’s hand and pressed the money into it. “That should be enough to get you wherever you want to go, okay?”

Keith didn’t respond—just tipped forward, head falling against Lance’s shoulder.

“Oh, boy,” Lance muttered. 

The cab driver cleared his throat aggressively. “Is this not where you wanted me to drop you off?”

“Oh … yeah, no. This is the right place. I just—” Lance tried to shrug Keith off of him, and Keith whined something incoherent in protest. “Listen, can you do me a favor and make sure this guy gets somewhere safe? I’ll pay you double the—”

“What? No, no, no.” The driver turned to glare at Keith passed out in the backseat. “I am _not_ just gonna drive your drunk friend—”

“Not drunk,” Keith muttered against Lance’s shoulder. 

“And he’s not my friend,” Lance added. “I’ve never met him in my life, I swear. I’m just—”

“Listen, I don’t have time for this. Now both of you, _get out of my cab_.” 

“I—” Lance started to argue, then closed his mouth. “Fine.” He passed a few bills up to the driver. “Here. Thanks for the ride.” The driver said nothing, snatching the money from his hand.

Lance tugged on Keith’s arm. “Alright, man. Looks like you’re coming with me.”

Keith grumbled weakly in protest, but he still followed along as Lance opened the cab door and pulled him outside. The cab took off almost before Lance had shut the door, veering away from the curb with a screech. 

“Sheesh,” Lance muttered.

Then he turned his attention back to Keith, who was swaying on his feet like he was about to pass out again. Lance was still holding him by the arm, and he tightened his grip a little in preparation to catch Keith—or attempt to, anyway—if he suddenly fell over. 

As they stood there on the curb, several options cycled through Lance’s mind. He knew, of course, that there was always the option of taking Keith to the nearest police station. But first of all, the thought of walking all the way there didn’t seem very feasible when Keith could barely stand on his feet. Secondly, Lance was _exhausted_ and was supposed to get up early the next morning, and he wanted to go to sleep as soon as possible. Lastly, given Keith’s refusal to say where he lived, Lance didn’t want to just hand him over to the cops if he was trying to escape a bad or abusive situation of some kind. 

“Listen,” Lance said, coming to a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. “Since it looks like we don’t really have a better option, you can crash at my place for the night, okay? Do you think you can make it up the stairs?”

Keith nodded, still with his eyes half-closed.

Even though a voice in his head screamed that this was a terrible idea, Lance led Keith towards the stairs. Normally he might’ve tried to resolve the situation more rationally—but right now his head was too foggy, and he was anxious to get to sleep so he could wake up early for the press conference. Somehow, letting a total stranger pass out on his couch seemed like the simplest solution. Keith would be sober the next morning, and they could deal with getting him back home then.

Lance buzzed them into the building, then pulled Keith by the wrist towards the stairs. Even in his half-conscious state, Keith managed to make the ascent, although he leaned heavily against the banister the whole way. 

When they reached the next landing, Lance guided them towards his apartment door and fished his keys out of his jacket pocket. Getting the door open involved a lot of jiggling the handle, twisting the key at an odd angle, and cursing under his breath, but he finally managed it. 

Lance shut the door behind them as soon as they were both inside, then flicked on the lightswitch. The fluorescent overhead light flickered to life, a moth fluttering around it. Lance winced at the state of the room, which bore little else than his narrow bed, a couch shoved into one corner, the small kitchen to their right, and the cluttered desk next to the window.

“Sorry, I wasn’t exactly expecting company,” Lance said, stepping over a pile of dirty laundry. 

He had let go of Keith, who was now standing in the entryway blinking in confusion. Something about the small frown on his face was kind of … _cute_ , an unhelpful little voice whispered in Lance’s head. He silently reprimanded himself for even thinking it. 

“So … do you need anything?” he asked. “Water? Coffee, tea? Not sure if I have much food, but—” 

“Sleep,” Keith murmured.

Lance huffed out a laugh. “Okay, I don’t blame you. I’ll try to find you some pajamas. And I think some water is a good idea.”

He wandered over to the sink, took a glass down from the shelf and filled it. “Here,” he said, holding it out towards Keith as he made his way back across the room. 

Keith took the glass and frowned down at it before he lifted it to his mouth and started to dutifully drink the water. Meanwhile, Lance turned towards the dresser and tugged one of the drawers open, sifting through its crumpled contents until he found a T-shirt and sweatpants that looked comfortable enough.

By the time Lance approached him again, Keith had finished drinking. He still held the empty glass, but it was slipping from his hand and Lance only barely managed to catch it and set it down on the nightstand. 

“Whoa, there. Okay, well … here’s something you can sleep in.”

He held the clothes out to Keith, who took them and held them in front of him like he had no idea what to do next.

Lance studied him for a moment. Until now, he had only seen Keith in the dim street lights. But somehow, even under the stark fluorescent lighting, he still managed to look … well, _good_. In a rumpled, sleepy kind of way. Lance couldn’t help but let his eyes wander from Keith’s face down the length of his neck to where his white shirt was slightly unbuttoned, exposing a hint of collarbone … 

_Oh, no._ Lance mentally chastised himself, blaming the nunvil for the train of thought his mind had started to travel.

He coughed. “So. I’ll just … give you a minute. I’ll grab my stuff and go change in the bathroom. You can sleep on the couch, okay?”

Keith let out a yawn and blinked drowsily. “... ‘Kay.”

Assuming Keith could figure out how to change his clothes by himself, Lance left him to it. After grabbing his own pajamas, he headed into the bathroom.

As soon as he shut the door behind him, the reality of the situation slapped him in the face. So … he had really just taken some random stranger—a very drunk, very attractive stranger—off the streets and taken them to his own _apartment_ , not even really with any consent. Oh, God. Did this count as a kidnapping? He hoped not.

Lance groaned and leaned forward over the sink, giving himself a long judgmental look in the mirror. “You’ve really gotten yourself into it this time, huh?” Of course, his reflection offered no answer. With a deep sigh, he shed his work clothes and pulled on his pajamas. 

He took his time with his usual nightly routine—brushing his teeth, washing his face and applying a face mask, humming as he did so. He figured he should give Keith as much time as possible to get changed, so as to avoid any awkward situations. 

Once he was all done, he opened the door a crack. “Keith?” he called out. “Are you … decent?” 

No answer. 

Lance waited a moment longer, then cautiously nudged the door open as he listened for any sign of movement. But the room was silent except for the faint buzz of the overhead light and the hum of the fan in the window. Hoping he wouldn’t find Keith passed out on the floor, Lance pushed the door the rest of the way open and—

“Oh, you’ve gotto be kidding me.”

At least Keith wasn’t on the floor. But he _was_ in Lance’s bed, curled up on his side under the blankets and snoring softly. He had changed into the pajamas and had left his other clothes in a crumpled pile where he had been standing a few minutes earlier.

With an exasperated sigh, Lance stepped out of the bathroom and made his way across the room. “I told you to sleep on the _couch_ ,” he muttered. 

He briefly considered trying to transfer Keith to the couch somehow, but none of the options seemed very appealing. It would involve waking him up and making him move, carrying him, or moving the couch over to the side of the bed and unceremoniously rolling him onto it … any of which would have required too much effort.

Besides, as Lance stopped by the side of the bed, the flicker of annoyance sputtered and died. He found himself entranced by the sight of Keith lying there, somehow managing to look like a sleeping fairytale prince despite being some random drunk guy Lance had dragged in off the street.

His features had relaxed considerably, giving him a more youthful appearance. His black hair spilled across the pillow, and Lance stared at it and wondered distantly if it was as soft as it looked.

Coming back to his senses, Lance looked away. “Fine. You can have the bed, Mullet.”

He scooped Keith’s discarded clothes off the floor. It occurred to him that it was probably a good idea to check his pockets to see if he had any kind of identifying information on him—a wallet, a phone, anything. But when he checked, the pockets were empty. Weird. Maybe someone had stolen all of Keith’s stuff while he was passed out on the bench in the plaza.

Lance folded the clothes and placed them at the foot of the bed, trying not to make the slightest noise. Keith shifted and Lance froze—but Keith soon relaxed again and let out a content little sigh in his sleep.

Something softened around Lance’s heart. _God_. He knew he had a tendency to develop a crush on just about every good-looking person he met, but this was a bit much. He’d barely even spoken to Keith, for goodness’ sake. As he stood up straight again, he mentally shook himself by the shoulders. _Keep it together, man. Just once. I’m begging you_. 

He ran a hand through his hair as he looked towards the couch in the corner. Sleep … sleep was probably a good idea. 

Lance turned off the lightswitch. The room was still illuminated by the faint blue-toned moonlight, which Lance used as a guide across the cluttered room until he reached the couch. He debated staying up longer to do some research before the press conference tomorrow, but—well, it was a little late now, and he was about ready to collapse from exhaustion. The cab ride to the Castle would probably be a bit long, anyway; he could prepare some additional questions on the way there. 

Having come to that decision, Lance fell onto the couch and curled up on his side. It was a little cramped and he had to almost draw his knees up to his chest to fit—but he managed to find a position that was suitable enough. 

He sighed as he wedged one of the cushions underneath his head. Despite how tired he was, Lance remained awake for a while longer, eyes open in the darkness. He could just barely make out the shape of Keith’s motionless form in his bed, and something about it was oddly comforting. Even though they were strangers, and the whole situation was awkward and a bit insane … it was nice to have the presence of someone else there, to listen to the soft sound of breathing from across the room. 

Smiling a little to himself, Lance closed his eyes. “G’night, Keith,” he murmured. 

He fell asleep faster than he had in months.

  


* * *

  


BREAKING NEWS

_Daybreak News brings you the latest update from the Castle of Lions, where the princes of Daibazaal are currently taking residence. Prince Akira, who was expected to hold a press conference later this morning, has contracted a sudden illness, according to our sources._

_Although the nature of this illness is unknown, Prince Takashi has assured the press that it is nothing serious. However, any public appearances by both princes have been postponed until further notice._

  


* * *

  


“I hate lying to them,” Shiro said, pacing the length of the conference room. Golden morning light poured through the tall windows, stinging his tired eyes. 

He felt like he had aged five years since he’d woken up early and gone to knock on Keith’s door, only to find his brother’s guest room empty. He’d joked in the past that Keith was the reason for the patch of his hair that had gone prematurely white, but at times like these, it wasn’t much of an exaggeration.

“I know,” Alfor said from the head of the table. “But it’s probably the best choice for now. If word gets out that Akira is wandering the city unguarded, it could leave him vulnerable to attack.”

Shiro paused by the window, something twisting in his gut upon hearing the words. He kept trying to reassure himself that Keith was fine, but the thought of him out there alone in Altea City, of him being lost or hurt or _worse_ and it being Shiro’s fault …

“Father,” Allura cut in, her voice level despite the severity of the situation. She sat in a chair by the king’s elbow, wringing her hands around a steaming cup of tea. “I understand your concerns, but perhaps Prince Takashi has a point. If we continue to lie that Akira is ill, it could also cause a panic in regards to his well-being. If we reveal the truth that he has gone missing, perhaps we might locate him sooner if the citizens of Altea were on the lookout for him.”

Alfor scratched the side of his jaw. “I appreciate your insight, Allura. But I’m not certain I trust civilians to help locate the prince. I would expect a lot of false information to be spread, and it might slow us down in the long run.”

“Your highness, if I may.” Coran coughed into his fist, stepping up to the king’s side. “I don’t mean to cause alarm, but we should not rule out the possibility of an abduction. Perhaps the Altean police force should—”

“No, no.” Alfor waved him off. “I don’t think that will be necessary—unless you disagree, Takashi.”

Shiro had tensed at the word _abduction_ , feeling a little light-headed at the thought of any harm coming to his younger brother. But then again, he hadn’t seen any sign of a struggle when he’d searched Keith’s room earlier. No broken windows or anything like that.

“No,” he said at last, glaring down at the table. “I agree with you, Alfor. I don’t want to send police all over the city and cause alarm. My brother probably just ran off by himself. Maybe I should—” 

“I advise against you leaving the Castle to seek out Prince Akira on your own, if that’s what you are proposing,” Alfor interrupted. “But if you don’t want to send out the police to look for him, perhaps we require a more … covert operation to find him.”

He looked towards the far corner of the room, where several Blade members had been standing silently throughout the meeting. One of them—Kolivan, the head of the royal guard—stepped forward with a fist pressed to his chest in salute.

“Your majesty. If you say the word, I can have a task force arranged immediately. I may need to call in some backup from a nearby base, but they could be here within the hour.”

Alfor bowed his head. “Thank you for the offer, Kolivan. But I also don’t want to make too hasty of a decision—”

“This is a state of national emergency,” Kolivan cut him off before he could finish. “I do not mean to overstep my bounds, your highness. But the prince’s life is at stake—as is the reputation of the Altean family, since he has disappeared underneath your watch.”

Shiro’s eyes widened a little at the blunt statement, and he looked towards Alfor in nervous anticipation. Surprisingly, the king remained silent as he contemplated Kolivan’s words. He apparently knew the guard well enough to value his judgment. 

“Very well,” he said. “Perhaps that would be best. Takashi, what do you think?”

Shiro remained tense, glaring at Kolivan—taking in the sight of his stony demeanor and the cold look in his eyes. He knew the Blade had a reputation of being a bit … soulless, for lack of a better word. But their stealth and efficiency were also why they were trusted by the Altean royal family.

Everyone in the room was still watching Shiro, anxiously awaiting his answer. But when he started to open his mouth to speak, he couldn’t seem to get the words out. 

“I … I don’t know,” he said at last. 

That seemed to take everyone by surprise—especially Alfor, who leaned back slightly. When Shiro didn’t justify his hesitation, the king prompted, “Is there a particular reason why you oppose this plan?” 

The question wasn’t hostile, merely curious. But Shiro still found it difficult to look Alfor in the eye, and he could also feel Kolivan’s icy gaze boring into him from across the table. 

“It’s not that I _oppose_ it,” Shiro finally said, choosing his words with caution. “I’m just wondering if it’s necessary to use force to bring him back. Keith is an adult, and he hasn’t actually broken any laws, has he?”

He lifted his gaze again to look at Alfor, waiting for his reply. The king regarded him with an inscrutable frown, his shoulders stiffening. But as he considered Shiro’s answer, his expression began to soften again. 

“I understand your concerns. He is your brother, after all, and I know you don’t want any harm to come to him.” He took a deep breath. “However, that is precisely why I would like to entrust the Blade with this mission. 

“Firstly, as Coran pointed out, we don’t know if Akira left the Castle on his own or whether it was against his will. On the off-chance that it is the latter, the Blade is the most trustworthy team to locate and rescue him. 

“Even in the case that he ran away of his own accord, he may require some … _persuasion_ to be returned to the palace. While I understand he has the right to do as he pleases, he may not understand the long term consequences of his actions, and how this might reflect upon our newfound alliance.”

Although Alfor hadn’t said it outright, Shiro could clearly read the implication lurking beneath the surface of his explanation. If Keith refused to return to the Castle and address the public, it could reflect poorly on all of them—on the Altean royal family, on Shiro … and if the public were to find out the truth, they might question the authenticity of the Altean-Galran alliance, which was already under scrutiny. 

Shiro still hesitated, but at this point, he was starting to see that he was running out of choices. It wasn’t like he could suggest they simply wait and see if Keith returned or not. And every second he put off making a decision, his brother was still out there—and possibly in danger, for all he knew.

“Fine,” he said at last. When everyone in the room gave him a questioning look, he added, “I mean, yes. It … It looks like turning to the Blade is our best option.”

Alfor didn’t respond right away, as if he were waiting for Shiro to continue. But after a short silence he said, “Then so it will be.” He gave Kolivan a curt nod. “You have my permission to arrange the task force at once.”

Kolivan saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll notify our parents,” Shiro said, trying not to wince at the thought of what the king and queen would say. Hopefully they wouldn’t be _too_ worried—and wouldn’t blame him for this happening. Maybe he would call Adam too, on the off-chance Keith had contacted him at all. 

“Then I officially adjourn this meeting,” Alfor announced. “We shall reconvene here in an hour and discuss any updates. May the prince be returned to us as safely and quickly as possible.”

There was a shuffling around the room, as everyone started to leave. Shiro gave the king one more appreciative nod and then headed towards the nearest door, his head bowed. 

_Keith_ … _wherever the hell you are,_ he thought, _you’d better be safe._

  


* * *

  


Lance awoke to the sound of bells tolling. 

Still in his half-awake state, he groaned and screwed his eyes shut. Why was the sun so _bright_? And God, that bell just kept tolling and tolling like there was no tomorrow. 

Five, six, seven, eight …

Wait. 

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. 

Shit. _Shit_. 

Lance’s eyes flew open and he bolted upright. “Oh, no,” he gasped. His hand scrabbled for his phone, which had somehow gotten wedged between the couch cushions. “No, no, no …” 

He hoped by some miracle that the nearby church bells had rung the incorrect number of times—but when he saw the time on his phone, his heart immediately plunged into his stomach. 

It was noon. _Noon_. He’d slept right through his alarm, and the press conference had started fifteen minutes ago, and he was still too far away to make it in time before it ended. Oh, God … this could _not_ be happening.

Cursing, Lance leapt off the couch. He banged his shin on the coffee table and let out another string of swears as he skirted around it and rushed towards the bathroom. He only paused momentarily by the bed, but Keith was still fast asleep and Lance did nothave time to deal with this right now. 

He continued to spout out words that would have horrified his mother as he turned on the bathroom sink, peeled his face mask off, and scrubbed at his skin without even waiting for the water to turn warm. His work clothes were hanging on the chair next to his desk, and Lance hastily tugged off his pajamas and started to get changed. 

“This is _your_ fault, Mullet,” he grumbled as he shoved his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. He felt a bit guilty as the words left his mouth, though, because Keith looked so _peaceful_ , lying still in the sunlight with one hand curled loosely on the pillow next to his face. 

Lance wondered if he should try to wake Keith up. But he was already running so late, and Keith still appeared to be sound asleep. Judging by how messed up he’d been the night before, he probably needed a few more hours to sleep it off. 

After briefly considering writing a note or something, Lance decided against it. He would just rush to work, hopefully not get fired, and come back in a couple hours—and either Keith would still be asleep, or he would wake up and hopefully remember enough that he would know he hadn’t been kidnapped.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon,” Lance said, even though he knew Keith couldn’t hear him. “Just … don’t freak out when you wake up, okay?”

With those helpful parting words, he shoved his feet into his shoes and dashed out the door.

  


* * *

  


On the way to work, Lance frantically tried to decide how he was going to bullshit his way out of this one. 

It crossed his mind that he could probably take out his phone and look up some other articles or videos that had come out—surely someone else had written or posted something about the press conference already—and scrape together his own article from there. While he hated the idea of lying that he’d actually been there, he really could _not_ risk losing this job. Unfortunately, the bus ride to the office wasn’t very long, so he figured his last-minute research could wait until he was at his desk. 

The National Altean News headquarters was located in an old brick building in the center of town. Almost as soon as the bus pulled up to it, Lance practically leapt down to the pavement. Two lion statues posed on either side of the front steps, seeming to stare down judgmentally at him as he raced up the stairs.

In about a minute flat he hurtled into the elevator, jabbed at the button for the third floor, and dashed into the office as soon as the doors slid open. Attempting to collect himself, Lance took a deep breath to calm his racing pulse as he sauntered between the rows of desks and tried to appear as calm as possible.

No one else seemed to take much notice of him, all hunched behind their monitors and typing away. Lance came to a stop at his own desk, catching his breath as he switched on his computer. As it started up, he leaned casually against the cubicle and shot a grin at the woman sitting across from him. 

“Morning, Nyma.”

She stopped typing to glance up at him, blinking behind her cat-eye glasses. “Hey, Lance. Iverson was just looking for you.” 

“Oh.” Lance’s smile vanished. “Any idea why?”

Nyma shrugged, taking a sip from her coffee mug. “Not sure, but he seemed angry. Like, more than usual. If I were you, I’d head into his office _now_.”

Lance swallowed. “Okay. Cool. Cool, cool. Thanks for letting me know.”

His voice had gone up several pitches, and he hoped Nyma didn’t notice. If she did, she said nothing about it as she silently returned to work. 

_Oh, no_. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Lance lingered at his desk, chewing on his lower lip as he tried to decide what to do. His instinct was to run out of the office screaming rather than face Iverson’s wrath, but that would probably get him fired. Although … that was probably about to happen anyway.

Or … maybe not. Lance was good at acting. Heck, he’d gotten out of school for two whole weeks in second grade by faking the stomach flu. He could probably tap dance around the truth and make Iverson believe he’d really been to the press conference. No big deal.

Still, his knees felt weak as he made his way over to Iverson’s office. The door was closed, and Lance held his breath as he rapped his knuckles against the mottled glass window. 

“Come in,” a voice barked from within.

_Well, here goes nothing_. Lance braced himself, then forced a smile onto his face as he opened the door. 

“Morning, Iverson,” he said cheerfully as he stepped inside. “Heard you were looking for me?”

Iverson stood at the window behind his desk, his back turned to Lance as he surveyed the view of the city. “McClain. Why don’t you close the door and have a seat?”

Lance’s stomach twisted at the unsettling calmness in Iverson’s voice, but he did as he was told. Cautiously, he closed the door behind him and ambled over to sit down in the chair in front of the desk. 

Iverson remained quiet as he continued to stand at the window, idly flipping through the newspaper in his hands. 

Since it seemed like Iverson wasn’t going to say anything first, Lance cleared his throat and said, “So … I assume you want me to tell you how the press conference went?”

Iverson paused in the middle of turning a page, then slowly closed the newspaper. A strange look crossed his face, his frown deepening. “The press conference—” he started, then stopped as if he’d changed his mind about what he’d been about to say. “Yes … why don’t you tell me about how it went?”

He sounded strangely calm all of a sudden, which set off an alarm somewhere in Lance’s brain. But he tried to keep it cool, subtly wiping his sweaty palms on his knees. 

“It … uh, it was great,” he stammered. “Very enlightening.”

“Is that so?” Iverson finally turned around, tucking the newspaper under one arm. He stared Lance down with his one good eye, the other permanently screwed shut. “A bit short, wasn’t it?”

Lance’s stomach started to sink as he processed Iverson’s words. Right … he probably should have realized that it was a bad idea to head straight to the office a little past noon when the press conference was supposed to have started at 11:45. And the Castle was a bit of a ways from here, too. _Oops_. 

Okay, okay. He could still roll with this. Lance managed what he hoped was a convincing smile, leaning casually back in his chair. 

“I know, right? These royals, they never have much time for us common folk, huh? Always rushing from one event to another and all.” 

“Hmm,” Iverson grunted. He paced along the length of his desk, running a finger over the wood. “Did the prince answer all the questions on the list, at least?”

“Yeah, of course. Gosh, gotta check my notes to remember what all the questions were. Got ‘em right here somewhere ...” Lance patted his jacket pockets, praying he had some scrap of paper that would look convincing enough.

Iverson held up a hand. “No need, I have them all memorized.” A smug smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. “Tell me … what did Prince Akira have to say about neutralizing the tensions between Daibazaal and Altea? Or about forming a new alliance?”

“Um.” Lance cleared his throat, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Yeah, yeah. He said a lot about that. Thought it was a great idea.”

Iverson raised an eyebrow. “And …?”

“And …” _Come on, Lance. Think. Think about all the presentations you bullshitted your way through in high school_. “And he thought there would be two effects. The direct and the … indirect.”

“I see.” Iverson crossed his arms. “Go on.”

“Well, he thought the indirect would not be as … direct. As the direct. At least, not at first. But it might be. Later on.” 

Oh, no. He was slipping. Lance could hear the tremor in his own voice, could feel his false smile starting to falter. 

“Well, well,” Iverson drawled. “Sounds like the prince had some shrewd observations. Maybe these royal kids are smarter than we give them credit for.” He slipped the newspaper out from underneath his arm, glancing over the first page. “And what did Prince Akira say about the future friendship of nations?”

“The—The friendship of nations? Oh, right. He said, uh … Youth,” Lance blurted. 

Iverson looked up again, frowning. “What?”

“The—you know. The _youth_.” Lance got to his feet, gesturing enthusiastically as he stepped forward. “He said that the youth of the world must lead the way to a better …” He reached down to adjust a small globe-shaped paperweight on Iverson’s desk. “... World.”

“Hmm … right,” Iverson said, moving the paperweight back to its original place. He raised an eyebrow at Lance, who was adjusting his shirt collar again. “Is it too warm in here for you?”

“Huh? No, no.” Lance smiled sheepishly, leaning a hand down on the desk. “I just kinda rushed over here, you know? Couldn’t wait to tell you all about the big press conference.” 

“Of course. Well, I appreciate you hurrying over here to tell me about it in such great detail,” said Iverson. 

Lance blinked. Was he really about to get away with this?

“—Especially considering that Prince Akira fell violently ill early this morning and has canceled all of his public appearances for the day.”

… _Oh_. Oh, no.

Iverson slapped the newspaper down on the desk, and Lance winced. He skimmed the headline again and again as if doing so would change the words, but they remained there as clear as day.

“Care to explain yourself, McClain?”

“I—” Lance started to say, but he had run out of excuses. Defeated, he let out a sigh and sat heavily back down in the chair. “Fine. The truth is, I slept through my alarm. I’m sorry.”

He reached for the newspaper, still looking over the article. As he picked it up, it fell open to reveal an accompanying photo that Lance hadn’t noticed before. 

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it,” Iverson snapped. “This was the most important assignment I’ve given out in months—years, maybe—and you would have _slept through it_? And then you have the nerve to walk into my office and _lie_ about it?”

Normally Lance would’ve felt the sting of Iverson’s words more, but right now he was fixated on the photo next to the article—at the face of the prince, who was looking at something off-camera with a thoughtful frown, dressed in a traditional Galran embroidered jacket. The more Lance stared at it, the more his head started to spin. 

Iverson planted his hands down on his desk, leaning forward to glare at Lance. “Well?”

Lance’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. “This … This is the prince?” was all he could manage to say. He held up the newspaper, indicating the photo.

“Of course that’s the prince. You mean to tell me you were going to the press conference without even knowing what he lookedlike?”

“No, no. Of course I know what he looks like. I just—I …” Lance couldn’t even form words as he continued to stare at the picture. 

Because it was definitely, undeniably _Keith_ in the photo. The Keith that was very much still asleep in his apartment right now.

Lance didn’t know what to do with this shocking information, but he also knew he couldn’t stay silent for much longer. He gripped the edges of the newspaper, hoping it wasn’t too obvious his hands were trembling. He had to come up with something _quick_.

With the newspaper still in hand, he rose to his feet. “Look, I understand you’re mad. But let me ask you something,” he said. “Let’s say someone were to get a more … personal interview with the prince. A _real_ interview. Like a one-on-one kinda deal.”

“What’re you talking about? You’ve got as much chance of getting—”

“I know, I know. But what if I did?”

“Did … what? Interviewed the prince?” Iverson crossed his arms and stared at Lance like he’d lost his mind. “How exactly would you plan on doing that when the prince is extremely ill? Dress up like a doctor and waltz into the palace?”

Lance offered an easy smile. “Well, let’s say I found a way,” he mused, folding the newspaper up. “Doesn’t matter how. If I were able to really sit down with Prince Akira, ask him about his views on—well, _anything_ , and not just political stuff. But, you know, his personal beliefs. Who knows, maybe even his love life … How much would that be worth?”

Surprisingly, Iverson was quiet. Lance held his breath, hoping his confident façade wouldn’t fail him. 

“Hmm,” Iverson said, pacing around the perimeter of the desk. “Guess it depends on how detailed the interview was. But especially considering how reclusive Akira is—if someone were to get some more personal details out of him, that interview could be worth quite a lot. Especially if it had photos to go along with it, since he has a tendency to shy away from cameras. So, probably around … I don’t know. Fifty grand?”

Lance tried not to let his jaw drop in shock. “Fifty—Fifty _thousand_?” 

“More or less. I don’t see why it matters, though, seeing as there’s no way in hell you’re getting an interview with the prince.”

Lance struggled to keep his composure, despite the flare of defiance he felt in his gut. He could tell that Iverson had no faith in him, and he had a sudden impulse to prove him wrong. After a brief pause, he tucked the newspaper under his arm and took a few paces backwards towards the door. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Iverson demanded. 

“To get that interview,” said Lance, secretly delighting in the way Iverson gaped in disbelief. “This might sound crazy, but I think I have a plan.”

He held his breath, worried that Iverson would fire him on the spot—but to his relief, there was a spark of interest in Iverson’s eye.

“This had better be good, McClain. If you don’t have that interview _with photographs_ on my desk by tomorrow, don’t bother coming back.”

Lance tried not to wince. Was he really going to risk his career over this? He hesitated by the door, knowing that this was either going to be his biggest breakthrough or his most humiliating downfall.

“Oh, it’ll be good,” he said. “I promise.”

With that, he dashed out the door.

  


* * *

  


The trip back home seemed to take an eternity. 

Lance had run out of the office with the newspaper still wedged under his arm, and he pulled it out as soon as he’d stepped onto the bus. He studied the photograph again, worried that he’d completely lost his mind or that he was remembering Keith’s face totally wrong, but—no, he was certain of it. The more he took in the sight of Akira’s features—dark eyes, long black hair, defined cheekbones—the more confident he became that this was really happening. The stranger he’d randomly dragged off the street and into his apartment was a _prince_.

He wasn't sure whether to feel elated or terrified at this revelation. What he did know was that the whole way home, a desperate plea kept repeating itself in his head like an incantation: _Please still be there. Please still be there_.

When the bus pulled up to his stop, Lance shoved the newspaper under his arm again and leapt onto the curb. He barely noticed the people around him as he sprinted down the sidewalk towards his apartment building, only pausing to mutter an apology to a man who grumbled at him as he shoved his way past.

Once he had made it into the building, he scrambled up the stairs and to his door. Okay ... here was the moment of truth. 

Bracing himself, he fumbled for his keys and slowly unlocked the door. It opened with a creak, and Lance winced at how loud it sounded in the stillness. He held his breath, finally daring to poke his head around the door and—

Keith was still curled up on his bed, facing the wall. He didn't appear to have moved an inch since Lance had left him there not long before. 

Lance let out a heavy breath. He wove his way inside and eased the door shut behind him, leaning against it as his mind raced. He had enough clarity to remind himself that he still didn’t know for a _fact_ that Keith was Prince Akira. But … well, there was only one way to find out.

Careful not to make any sudden noises, he paced around the edge of the bed. Keith still didn’t move, his hand curled on the pillow near his face so it was difficult to get a clear view of his features. Lance tilted his head in hopes that looking from a different angle would help, but it didn’t. He sighed, accepting that he was going to have to do this the hard way. 

He pulled up a folding chair that had been standing behind him, lowering himself down so he was sitting right by the side of the bed. With his pulse still racing, he slid the newspaper out from under his arm and turned it over to expose the photograph of the prince. 

Lance looked at the picture, then back at the boy sleeping in his bed. He leaned forward and reached out, tapping gently on Keith’s hand in hopes that he would move it out of the way. Instead, Keith tensed and turned over to bury his face against the pillow.

“Ugh,” Lance muttered, smacking himself in the forehead. He scooted closer, tracing a finger over Keith’s palm. Keith’s hand twitched, but he still didn’t uncover his face. 

Time for a different approach. Lance leaned back, clearing his throat. “Um … Prince Akira?”

There was a long pause in which he received no response, and he sank into the chair with a defeated sigh. 

But then Keith shifted a little, his hand moving away from his face. Although he didn’t open his eyes, he frowned in his sleep. “Yeah?” he murmured.

Lance sat up straight again. In addition to what Keith had just said, Lance could now clearly see his face and it was _definitely_ the same face as the prince’s and … _Oh, my God._

He jumped up from the chair, clapping a hand over his mouth. The revelation spread through him like wildfire, making him giddy with an unusual blend of disbelief, horror, and excitement.

Lance backed up and started to pace the room. Okay, so ... Keith was the prince. And Lance had promised Iverson he would write an article about said prince before tomorrow morning or he was going to lose his job. 

And … well, this was not a plan he had thought all the way through. 

He stopped pacing, looking back at Keith’s sleeping form in his bed. _How the hell am I going to pull this off?_

It wasn’t like he could shake Keith awake and demand an interview with him. Even waiting for him to wake up and then politely asking him didn’t feel like the right thing to do. Either way, Keith would probably feel like he was being taken advantage of. 

So … maybe Lance could continue pretending he didn’t know the truth, for the time being. But then he could … work his way up to it somehow. Or, who knows, maybe Keith would just outright admit to being the prince. 

In any case, Lance had bet his whole career on this, so he would have to write _something_ and—wait. He’d promised Iverson photos, hadn’t he? The more he kept running over the morning’s events in his head, the more the details kept surfacing like he was slowly remembering a nightmare. He’d been panicking so badly in the moment that he hadn’t had time to think things through. 

“Okay,” he breathed out, running a hand through his hair. “Think, Lance.”

One thing at a time. He was going to need someone to take photos for him. Good, professional photos. 

Luckily, he knew just the person to ask. Although he hesitated to bring someone else into this mess, at least he knew it was someone he could trust. 

He ducked back out into the hallway. 

On the landing outside his apartment door, he stood with his phone in his hand in silent deliberation for about a minute. Finally, he sucked in a deep breath like he was about to dive into deep water, and he pulled up his contact list and pressed Hunk's name. 

The phone rang in his ear several times as Lance tapped his fingers against the banister and muttered _pick up, pick up_ under his breath. Then after what felt like an eternity, he heard a familiar voice on the other end. 

"Lance?"

"Hunk!" Lance exclaimed with maybe a bit more relief than he'd meant to, and then cleared his throat. "I ... hey. Hunk. Hey." 

"Uh ... are you alright?" Hunk asked. "Also, did you call me on purpose? Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?" 

"I am. Sort of. It's complicated," Lance stammered. 

"Right, I saw that the press conference got canceled. That's such a bummer, man. Maybe they'll reschedule it?"

"It's okay. About the press conference, that is," Lance said. At this point he realized he was probably speaking loud enough for his neighbors to hear, and he lowered his voice. "Actually, that's kind of what I was calling about. Because of the press conference not working out, I got another ... special assignment. Something even bigger." 

"Whoa, _what_? Bigger than attending a press conference at the Castle of Lions? What is it?" 

Lance hesitated, looking up and down the empty hallway. He hunched over and stage-whispered into the phone, “Listen, I can’t really tell you over the phone. I think it would be better if I explained it in person.”

“That important, huh?”

“Yeah, that important. _Really_ important. And I’m gonna need your help with it.” 

There was a pause from the other end. “My help? With what?”

“Photos. Can you meet me at the Balmera Café in like … I don’t know, two hours? And could you bring your camera with you?”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down, Lance. Seriously, what is going on? What do you need photos for?”

“I told you, I can’t talk about it right now. But trust me, this is big. A real career changer. For both of us.”

Another lengthy pause before Hunk heaved a sigh. “Lance …”

There was a cautionary tone to his voice that Lance was all too familiar with, but he cut Hunk off before he could continue. 

“Come on, dude. Just trust me on this. Now, can you meet me at the café or not?”

Although he couldn’t see Hunk’s face, Lance could imagine the usual range of expressions—indecision, exasperation, and finally a begrudging acceptance.

“Okay, man. I’ll be there.”

“Really?” Lance stood up straight and grinned, giving a small victory punch to the air. “ _Yes._ You’re the best, Hunk! I owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you soon.”

“See ya.”

Before Hunk could change his mind, Lance hung up. He looked down at his phone. A little past 1 PM.

Okay, so he had two hours. And he had Hunk to help him with photos. 

Now, all he needed was for Keith to wake up.

  


* * *

  


Keith felt as if his eyes were full of sand. 

That was his first coherent thought as he eased into consciousness, blinking into the light. It was an unpleasant sensation; his eyes stung and felt somewhat crusted at the edges. The next thing he became aware of was the intense pounding in his head, and he groaned as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

God, why did he feel so horrible? Was he hungover? He remembered going to the party the night before, remembered drinking _some_ wine but it hadn't really been that much, and then ... then ... Everything after that was a blur. 

Keith pried his eyes open, as his mind scrambled to catch up with the previous night's events. The party. Shiro ... right, he'd talked to Shiro. They'd gotten into an argument. He'd taken his sleep medication, and—

The train of thought screeched to a halt right then, because as Keith's eyes adjusted, he realized that he was not in a room he recognized in the slightest. Across from him he could see a faded blue couch with a rumpled blanket draped across it, a small coffee table, a lamp. A fan hummed in the window, causing the white curtains to flutter. 

Sitting up, Keith turned his head to observe more of his surroundings. His heart pounded faster as he took in every detail: A glass door looked out on a small balcony, where the spires of buildings were visible over the railing. To his right was a small kitchen, where he caught a glimpse of a sink piled with dishes and an old radio on the counter. 

As he struggled to get his thoughts in order, his attention drifted to the bed he was sitting in. And ... _oh, no_. It was all starting to piece together. He was in some random apartment, he was in someone's bed, and ... was that a pile of clothes at his feet? _His_ clothes?

Keith's vision blurred at the edges as he grasped at the shirt he was wearing—well, okay, he was wearing _something_ , so that was good. But as he looked down, he realized he was dressed in a faded T-shirt he had never seen before. One with a faint, clean scent that reminded him of the ocean. 

His fingers uncurled from the fabric, his whole body stiffening as memories started to surface in snapshots. He’d left the Castle of Lions, jumped onto a random truck. He faintly recalled wandering through a bustling city plaza. A large fountain. A park bench. Then, everything had faded to darkness. Had he blacked out? Oh, God—he couldn’t remember.

Keith squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. He fought to think past the ache in his head and the nervous fluttering in his chest. _Don’t panic. Just try to remember how you ended up here_.

Okay, so … he’d passed out on a bench, apparently. And then what? The more he thought about it, the more he became fairly certain that he remembered some events after that—but they were hazy, like images from a dream. He’d woken up and someone had been sitting next to him. He had a faint recollection of being in a moving vehicle—a bus? A car? And then … then …

He had no idea. What he _did_ know was that somehow he had ended up in a stranger’s apartment. And had also somehow ended up in said stranger’s bed. And clothes. 

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit_. Keith groaned and leaned forward, burying his burning face in his hands. This was really, really bad. He didn’t even know what time it was or how far away from the Castle of Lions he was, and … Oh, no. The press conference. Shiro was going to _kill_ him.

Before he could follow that train of thought, it was cut short by a sound coming from outside. Keith raised his head, heart hammering as he turned towards the apartment door. The sound he’d heard, he realized, was a muffled voice. He tried to pick out the words, but the person was either too far away or speaking too quietly. Presumably, though, it was the voice of the person who lived here—the person whose bed he was currently occupying. And they were probably going to walk through that door any minute.

At the horrifying realization, Keith threw the blankets off—and noticed he was wearing pants, thank God—as his eyes darted around the room for an escape. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no reasonable options besides the front door. Either that, or he could run outside and launch himself over the balcony—maybe there was at least a fire escape he could climb down. 

He was seriously starting to consider the second option, when he heard the distinct sound of the doorknob turning and he froze.

The person outside struggled with getting the door open—the knob jiggled a few times and Keith thought he heard a muttered curse or two—but then it finally opened with a jolt. A tall figure slid into the room, shutting the door behind them, before they turned around so they were facing Keith. 

The stranger—a young man who looked to be about Keith’s age—let out a small yelp of surprise and fell back against the door. He recovered quickly, standing up straight and running a hand through his hair. 

“Oh—hey. Hi. You—you’re awake.”

Keith stared at him. The boy was dressed in a business suit—gray pants and a matching jacket with a white button-down underneath. His dark blue tie was slightly askew, the collar of his shirt sticking up a little, and his dark brown hair tousled. It looked like he had just run a mile, and there was a certain nervous energy about him that made Keith frown in suspicion as he looked the boy up and down. 

He couldn't help but notice that the stranger was ... well, pretty good-looking. The realization made a subtle heat start to rise up to his face, and it only worsened as it occurred to him that he was looking at the person whose bed he was sitting in, whose _clothes_ he was wearing right now.

"Who are you?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

The grin vanished from the boy's face, and he frowned in brief offense before his expression softened again. "Right. I guess you don't remember very much about last night, huh?" He took a cautious step into the room. "Well, I'm Lance. Pleased to meet you."

He stuck out his hand and Keith stared at it. There was something oddly stiff and formal about the gesture, and about Lance's tone, that made a cold feeling settle in Keith's stomach. Did Lance know who he really was? Oh, God. Had he _told_ Lance who he was?

But as he looked up to meet Lance's gaze, he saw only sincerity there, with just a trace of shyness. _He doesn't know._ Suddenly feeling a little more relaxed, Keith reached out to shake his hand. 

"Keith," he said. He winced inwardly as soon as he said it, wondering if he should have come up with something else. But he figured his nickname was safe enough, especially since it wasn’t something that was widely known to the public. 

Lance cleared his throat and let go of Keith’s hand. He kept standing next to the bed, shifting on his feet as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"So," he drawled, "do you remember _anything_ about last night?"

There was an implication in the words that Keith couldn't quite interpret, but he had a sneaking suspicion that made him feel light-headed. After all, all the clues pointed to one thing. 

"I ..." he said, almost choking on the one word. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't. Why? Did we ... ?" 

He couldn't even bring himself to complete the question, his face burning. But ... well, he hoped Lance caught his drift.

Lance’s brow furrowed in confusion. Keith could almost see the pieces fitting together in his head as he continued to stand several feet away, looking Keith up and down. Then his eyes widened with the realization, and he held up his hands in a defensive gesture. 

"Did we—? What? No. No, no, no." Lance coughed into his fist, regaining his composure. "I'll have you know that I am a _gentleman_ and I slept on the couch."

"Oh," Keith said, his face feeling even warmer than it had before. "Good."

An awkward silence ensued, before Lance sunk down into a folding chair next to the bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“I guess I should fill you in, huh? Long story short, I found you passed out on a bench in the middle of the Central Altean Plaza. Thought you maybe needed some help, so I woke you up but you were like _super_ out of it. Like, could-barely-remember-your-name out of it. No offense.”

Keith winced. “None taken.”

“Anyway, you wouldn’t tell me where you were from. And you kept falling asleep on me. So …” Lance gestured at the room around them. “I decided to bring you back here, since there didn’t seem to be a better option. Otherwise, I probably would’ve had to just drop you off at the police station.”

As Keith listened to the story, the memories came seeping back in hazy patches. The more he remembered, the more he wanted to bolt outside and jump over the balcony.

"Well ... thanks," he said, smoothing out a wrinkle in the sheets with his finger. "For letting me stay here."

Lance leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "Hey, it's no problem." He raised an eyebrow. "How'd you even end up on that bench, though? You were really messed up, man."

"I ..." Keith scoured his brain for an excuse. All he needed to do was just lie and say he'd been really drunk or something, but he couldn't seem to form the words. "I don't ..."

Seeming to sense his discomfort, Lance backed down. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I was just wondering, that's all." 

When Keith still didn't say anything, Lance rose to his feet and stretched his arms above his head. "Anyway … probably our first order of business is to find you a change of clothes. Unless you want to wear those ones again." He nodded towards the foot of the bed, where Keith's outfit from the night before still lay in a crumpled heap. 

Keith cringed inwardly at the thought of changing back into the formal attire, especially after he'd worn it for so long the day before. "Uh ... yeah. A change of clothes would be nice, if that's okay."

"Yeah, sure. I just need to find something. One second ..." He hastened across the small room to a dresser in one corner, and started sorting through its drawers. 

Meanwhile, Keith slid off of the bed and planted his feet on the floor. The room wobbled slightly around him as he stood up, but he managed to grab one of the bed posts and steady himself. Lance didn’t seem to notice, too busy with rifling through his clothing and glancing in Keith’s direction—probably trying to gauge his size. 

“Okay. Nothing too fancy, but …” He held out two folded items towards Keith, which appeared to be a black T-shirt and jeans. 

“Thanks.” Keith took the offered clothing from Lance’s hands, then just held them out in front of him. “Um …”

“There’s a bathroom right over there,” Lance said, gesturing to a nearby door. “I’m gonna be out on the balcony. So … meet me out there when you’re done?”

“Yeah, sure.”

With an awkward nod, Lance backed away and moved towards the sliding glass door that led outside. 

As soon as Lance was out of view, Keith looked down at the clothes he was holding. He glanced over his shoulder at the door to the apartment, wondering if now would be a good time to make a run for it. But something rooted him to the spot. He figured he could at least change his clothes before saying goodbye.

In the bathroom, he pulled the baggy T-shirt and sweatpants off in favor of the new outfit Lance had handed to him. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and winced at the dark circles under his eyes and his unkempt hair. Once he had finished changing, he spared a minute to splash some cold water on his face and run his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down.

Once he had made himself look as presentable as he possibly could, so he stepped out of the bathroom. To his right, the sliding door to the balcony was a crack open. Through the glass, he could see Lance waiting outside, leaning against the balcony railing and surveying the view below. 

Cautiously, Keith slid the door aside just enough that he could fit through, and he stepped out onto the balcony. "Hey."

Lance turned at the sound of his voice, stiffening in surprise as he looked Keith up and down. "Oh, hey. That was quick." 

Keith shrugged, then rubbed at his arm. "I just wanted to ... you know. Say thanks. For the clothes. And last night, for helping me."

"Oh." Lance kept a hand on the railing, drumming his fingers against it. "Yeah, you’re welcome." 

"Anyway, I should probably ..." Keith started to say, but something stopped him. 

Maybe it was the look on Lance's face—a slightly forlorn, almost _disappointed_ expression, like he sensed Keith was going to leave but didn't want him to. Which was strange, really, considering they didn’t know each other at all. But … maybe that was actually one of the reasons why Keith found himself hesitating. 

Because maybe, possibly, he wished he could get to know Lance.

But before he could make any concrete decision or even finish his sentence, his attention was drawn to the view of the city over the balcony railing. 

“Whoa,” he said quietly. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud—but he was so entranced by the sight of Altea City from above that he wasn’t even embarrassed.

He’d seen the city from the airplane, and from a far distance in the darkness of night, but it was another thing to experience it in full daylight. Keith could now see that the apartment building was located on a crowded street at the top of a hill, overlooking winding streets, old buildings situated on the hillsides, the mountains in the far distance.

He moved forward as if entranced, resting his hands on the railing as he took in the sight.

“Nice view, huh?” 

Lance leaned against the balcony railing next to Keith, his hair fluttering in the breeze. He smiled as he surveyed the city landscape with fond familiarity.

Keith glanced over at him and then away again, his face warm. “Yeah, it is.” 

He could see Lance watching him out of the corner of his eye. 

“You’re not from around here, I take it?” 

Keith’s hands tightened on the railing. He wasn’t so good at making up stories, but he also worried about telling too much of the truth in case it led to Lance discovering his real identity. 

“No,” he admitted. Then hoping to divert the conversation away from himself he asked, “Are you?”

“I mean, I live here. So, yeah.” Lance gestured at the apartment behind them. “But if you’re asking if I’m from here _originally_ , then no. I was born in Cuba, actually. Me and my family moved to the States when I was around nine.”

“So, did you all move to Altea then, or … ?” 

“Nah, I moved here on my own a few years ago. Came here for school, ‘cause Altea University has one of the best writing programs in the world. Man, I couldn’t _believe_ I got in.”

“Oh, that’s really cool,” Keith said with genuine interest, but then floundered as he tried to somehow keep the conversation going. “So, you’re a writer?”

Lance’s eyes widened, like he hadn’t meant to reveal the fact that he was a writer for some reason. But then he sobered, looking away and scratching the back of his head. “Yeah. Or at least, it’s what I studied. I graduated a little over a year ago.”

“Are you still writing now?”

“Oh, y’know … a little, here and there,” Lance said. 

He avoided Keith’s gaze as he spoke, his shoulders hunching like somehow the topic embarrassed him. Keith mentally kicked himself. He must have said something wrong. Or he was being too nosy. God, why was he so bad at small talk? 

“Anyway, I decided to stay here after graduation—for the time being, anyway,” Lance went on, turning forward to lean his elbows against the railing. “I kinda fell in love with the city.”

Keith followed his gaze, looking over Altea’s gleaming towers and bustling streets. “I can see why,” he said with a faint smile. But he could feel it fading a moment later, as it started to dawn on him that he would probably never get to experience the city the way Lance had.

“So,” Lance said casually. “Are you around here for long, or … ?”

Keith didn’t answer right away. He could practically feel himself sweating under the collar, knowing that the longer he stuck around, the more questions Lance was bound to ask.

Still, he found himself stuttering out an answer. “No, not really. I, uh, go to a university a couple hours from here. I was on a trip with some classmates and we were staying outside the city, and … you know …”

He frantically tried to come up with something to say, his face flushing. But surprisingly, Lance nodded as if he understood.

“Crazy night, and then you woke up in Altea?” he said with a smirk.

Keith smiled sheepishly back. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Lance chuckled at that, then hesitated before he spoke again. “Hey, I was thinking … Since you haven’t been around the city before, I could show you around maybe?”

That hadn’t been what Keith was expecting to hear, and he felt the smile immediately vanish from his face as he stood up straight. “Oh,” he said. “I … um.” 

His head rushed as he struggled to come up with an answer, an excuse, anything. He knew he should probably be getting back to the Castle of Lions, that Shiro was probably worried about him, and he didn’t even have his phone or his wallet or anything … 

“I just thought I’d offer. But, you know, no hard feelings if you have to go back to your … school or whatever.” 

It took Keith a second to realize what Lance was referring to—he was so bad at lying that he’d nearly forgotten the story he’d made up a minute ago. “Right, yeah. School.”

The excuse was right there; he could easily say that he had to return from where he’d come from, that he had people waiting for him. Yet, something held him back. The thought of going right back to the Castle, back to his rigid routine, plus having to face the consequences after he’d missed the press conference … The thought made him feel queasy. Spending just a few more hours away from it all was certainly tempting.

And so he found himself saying, “I think I have a little bit of time.”

Lance blinked, and then suddenly perked up as a crooked smile rose to his face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I probably can’t stick around for _too_ long, ‘cause … you know, my friends are probably wondering where I am. But I could hang out for a couple hours.”

“Really? Awesome!” Lance did a victorious little fist-pump and then clapped Keith on the shoulder. “There’s this cool little marketplace nearby if you want to check it out.”

“I … yeah,” Keith said. “That sounds good.”

Even as they started to walk back into the apartment, he could still feel the spot on his shoulder tingling where Lance had touched it. 

  


* * *

  


Lance could not believe he was really getting away with this.

He could not believe he was out in broad daylight, walking down a crowded city street, with the freakin’ _prince of Daibazaal_ right next to him, and no one had even batted an eye.

Well, okay, that wasn’t entirely true. A few people _had_ given them weird looks, but Lance just continued to pray that no one would recognize Keith for who he really was—or if they did think he looked familiar, they would chalk it up to a coincidence. It probably helped that Keith had always avoided the spotlight and usually been overshadowed by his brother. It also helped that he fit in pretty well among the other tourists, looking around the bustling square with a wide-eyed, awestruck expression. 

It took Lance by surprise, honestly. He’d expected that Keith had traveled all around the world, being a prince and all, but he was taking in their scenery with childlike wonder like he had never seen anything so amazing. 

Lance didn’t know whether Keith was just really good at acting or whether he was actually that astonished by the streets of Altea City. In either case, something about Keith’s expression—his eyes alight and a faint smile on his face—caught Lance off-guard, and he had to quickly tear his gaze away before Keith caught him staring. He nearly stumbled into a vegetable cart in the process and quickly veered around it, shooting an apologetic smile to the vendor. 

Realizing he probably looked as nervous and distracted as he felt, Lance tried to compose himself. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket and fell into step beside Keith, walking at a casual pace.

He’d been through the marketplace dozens of times, but it never failed to brighten his spirits with its rich and energetic atmosphere. Carts lined the narrow cobblestone streets—some bearing colorful fruits and vegetables, others displaying sparkling handmade jewelry and other small trinkets. Altean flags—royal blue with a white lion on them—hung above many of the storefronts, waving lazily in the wind. 

It was easy to get lost in it all, both figuratively and literally. Altea City was famous for its lively marketplace, and especially during warm sunny days it attracted a swarm of people, both locals and tourists. The air buzzed with conversation—vendors calling out over the crowd to advertise their wares, or arguing with the customers who tried to bargain with them. 

They passed a flower shop with a cart out front brimming with bright pink blossoms. Keith paused next to it, frowning like he had just remembered something.

“Those are juniberries,” Lance explained. “They’re like, the official flower of Altea.”

Keith seemed to snap out of his momentary daze, looking up from the flowers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s sort of a symbolic thing. They were the queen’s favorite.”

“Right,” Keith said, like he had known that already. Maybe he had. Then he added quickly, “I mean … that—that’s really interesting.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, unsure of why Keith seemed so embarrassed. Maybe he thought that revealing any knowledge of Altean culture would expose his identity.

But Lance pretended not to notice the slip-up, continuing, “It’s one of the things I love most about Altea, actually—there’s such a sense of community.

“The queen passed away right before I moved here, but it always kinda feels like she’s still here in spirit—the way the people obviously loved her and are still commemorating her, you know? And just in general, it seems like the royal family really care about the people and everyone genuinely likes and trusts them.”

He hadn’t realized he’d been rambling, and he shut his mouth as soon as he noticed Keith staring at him. But Keith didn’t look annoyed or bored; he was watching Lance with curiosity, like he’d been enthralled with what he was saying. Then he looked away, frowning in like he had something new to mull over. 

Lance cleared his throat. “Well, anyway … shall we?” He swept an arm out, gesturing for Keith to lead the way. 

Breaking from his daze, Keith gave a small nod and continued down the street, leaving Lance to follow him in bewilderment. _Huh_. That was a bit weird. Had he said something wrong? Offended Keith somehow? 

He was still running the conversation through his head again, trying to find the place where he’d messed up, when Keith stopped walking and Lance almost ran into him. 

“What—” he started to say, and then stopped short to follow Keith’s enraptured gaze. 

They were standing in front of a small secondhand clothing store. Several mannequins were posed in the front window, adorned with flashy outfits. The one that Keith was staring at was one dressed in a bright red biker jacket—one that looked like it had been around since the 80’s, its leather worn and faded.

Lance let out a low whistle. “Wow. Some jacket, huh?”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed, voice a bit hoarse. His eyes lingered on the jacket, then something unreadable flickered across his face before he started to turn away. 

Something about it gave Lance pause. Not that he knew exactly what it was like to be a royal, but he was guessing it didn’t leave a lot of time for casual window shopping. It occurred to him that Keith might have never even set foot in a thrift store before.

And, well, it wasn’t like it was his duty to let Keith have _fun_ , but … he did want Keith to like him—or at least trust him—to some degree, if this whole writing-an-article-about-him thing was going to work out. 

“Wait,” he blurted. “Wait a second.”

He reached out to grab Keith by the wrist. Keith stopped in his tracks, whirling around to give Lance a puzzled look. 

“You wanna go inside for a sec?” Lance gestured towards the clothing store. “That jacket is really cool, man. You should try it on.” 

Keith’s posture stiffened. He looked warily back up at the jacket in the window. “You think so?”

“Yeah, why not?” Lance said with a shrug. “Worst that can happen is that it looks terrible on you.”

“I guess you’re right.” Keith huffed out a laugh, then gave a decisive nod. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“That’s the spirit! Come on.”

Lance was still gripping Keith’s wrist, and he led him towards the entrance of the store. A bell chimed above the glass door as it swung open. 

The store was small and quiet, seemingly unoccupied except for the two of them. Some pop song from several decades ago was playing from a small speaker on the front counter. Rows of clothing—mostly in loud, colorful prints—hung on racks along the walls, or were displayed on mannequins. 

A figure stepped out from behind a clothing rack, scribbling something on a notepad and humming along to the music. He looked up at the two newcomers. “Hey, how are you guys doing to—oh! Hey, Lance.”

Lance had been looking casually around the store, but he did a double-take at the sound of his name. When he saw who had spoken, he immediately broke into a grin. “Matt? Hey, man. I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Just for the summer,” Matt said with a shrug. He adjusted his round glasses, tucking his notepad under his arm. He noticed Keith then, and his eyebrows went up. “Who’s this?”

Lance realized then that he was still holding Keith by the wrist, and he quickly let go. “Oh, right. Where are my manners? This is Keith. He’s … my friend from out of town. Keith, this is Matt. He’s my friend’s brother, and we went to Altea University at the same time.”

“Keith,” Matt repeated, like he was testing out the name. He looked Keith up and down—brief and subtle, but obvious enough that it made an unexpected feeling boil in the pit of Lance’s stomach. “Nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand.

Keith stiffened at the sudden attention, then smiled back and reached out to shake the hand Matt had offered him. “You too.” 

Matt’s grip lingered for a moment, and he only let go when Lance cleared his throat. 

“Anyway, we were just admiring that jacket in the window. Mind if we take a look at it?”

“Hmm?” Matt blinked, and then his expression brightened again. “Oh. Yeah, sure! Excellent choice.”

He maneuvered past Lance and Keith, sliding the red jacket off the mannequin. “Honestly, I’m surprised no one has bought this beauty yet. Guess it’s kinda hard to pull off the color.”

He grinned as he held the jacket out, and Keith reached out to take it from him. Then he just held it and stared at it like he wasn’t sure what to do next. 

“There’s a mirror back there if you wanna try it on,” Matt offered, pointing towards the back of the store. 

Keith gave Lance a sideways look as if waiting for him to weigh in, and Lance gave him an encouraging nod. 

“Um … okay,” Keith said. 

He and Lance made their way to the back corner, where there were a few narrow dressing booths and a large mirror. Keith was still holding the jacket out in front of him like he expected it to bite him or something. 

Lance nudged Keith’s arm with his elbow, nodding towards the mirror. “Go for it, man.”

Although he still hesitated, Keith finally stepped forward and shrugged the jacket on. Lance hovered a few feet behind him, watching as Keith slid his arms through the sleeves, and … 

Oh.

Although he was the one who had encouraged Keith to try on the jacket in the first place, Lance was a little taken aback by how remarkably _good_ it looked on him. The bright red had looked gaudy when it was on the mannequin, but it suited Keith somehow. Plus, the shape of the jacket clung perfectly to his frame like it had been custom-designed for him. 

Luckily, Keith didn’t seem to notice Lance staring at him. He was too busy studying himself in the mirror, turning this way and that to observe the different angles. “Whoa,” he said, sticking his hands in the pockets. 

“Yeah, _whoa_ ,” Lance agreed, and then coughed into his fist when Keith turned to look at him. “It, uh … it looks really cool.”

“You think so?”

Keith’s expression brightened, and Lance was momentarily distracted by the excited glimmer in his eyes. 

“Yeah, man. Like, I dunno, it just _works_. The whole vintage style,” Lance stammered. “Matches your mullet.”

“My … what?”

“Nothing.” Lance mentally chastised himself. _You’re talking to a prince, remember?_ “Point is, it looks awesome. You should totally get it.”

Keith glanced at his reflection again. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever owned a piece of clothing this … bright before.” 

“Well, then. All the more reason you should keep it! I doubt you’re ever gonna find another jacket like that one.”

Keith made a small _hmm_ noise as he adjusted the collar. Then a small smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. “I guess you’re right.” Almost as soon as he’d uttered the words, though, his smile fell again. “Wait. I … don’t have any money on me.”

Oh … right. Lance had forgotten about that. He tapped his chin, looking the jacket up and down again. “Let me see it.” 

It seemed to take a second for Keith to understand, and then he slipped the jacket off and handed it over. Lance took it and turned it over in his hands, searching for the price tag until he found it dangling from one of the sleeves. And … okay, it wasn’t _super_ cheap, but it wasn’t horribly expensive either. 

“Hey, not too pricey.” An inkling of an idea formed at the back of Lance’s mind. Maybe it was a little too forward, but … “I can pay for it, if you want.”

The words slipped out before Lance could second-guess himself—although he immediately worried he had crossed a line, due to the shocked expression on Keith’s face. 

“Are you serious? No, no. You don’t even …” Keith stuttered. He stopped abruptly, but Lance could still practically hear the words he’d been about to say: _You don’t even know me._ Luckily he’d stopped himself before he could complete the sentence and blow their cover—since Lance had told Matt they were already friends, and Matt could probably still hear them. 

But, well … Lance couldn’t blame Keith for being taken aback by the suggestion. Frankly, he was surprised at himself for even offering. Then again, he wanted to get on Keith’s good side, right?

“It’s no big deal,” Lance said with an easy shrug. “It’s not your fault you lost your wallet. And this jacket is like a once-in-a-lifetime find.” 

Keith studied Lance’s face like he was searching for some hidden truth behind his words, but then seemed to come to a decision. “I … okay,” he said with a small smile. “Thank you. Really.” 

There was such honest sincerity in the words that it took Lance by surprise. Surely Keith had pretty much everything in life handed to him—things much more expensive than secondhand biker jackets. Yet, he seemed genuinely grateful for this small act of generosity. 

So, he was handsome _and_ a polite, gracious person. Oh yeah, and a prince. It wasn’t fair, really. 

Lance realized then that he hadn’t answered Keith yet, and he quickly cleared his throat. “No problem, man. Come on.” He gestured with his head towards the front of the store.

Matt had walked over to the register and was leaning an elbow casually against the counter. He smiled as Lance and Keith approached. “Found everything you were looking for?”

“Yep!” Lance laid the jacket down on the counter and reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet.

He couldn’t help but notice that Matt wasn’t even paying attention to him, but was still staring at Keith. Lance’s pulse picked up a little. Did Matt recognize who Keith was? Or was he just … oh. Oh, no. For some reason, the other option felt even worse. 

Forcing a smile, Lance handed over his credit card. It was only then that Matt snapped out of it. He took the card and ran it before handing it back again.

“There you go! Did you want a bag?”

Keith shook his head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just wear it.”

“Great idea,” Matt said with a grin, handing the jacket over the counter. “Hope you both have a wonderful day!”

Keith slid the jacket back on, straightening the sleeves and collar. Maybe Lance imagined it, but he thought Keith looked more confident this time—a faint smirk rising to his face.

They started towards the door—but just as Lance started to push it open, he heard Matt’s voice behind them.

“Wait!”

When they both turned to look at him, he had skirted around the edge of the counter, drumming his fingers against it like he was debating saying something.

“Listen … there’s going to be this party down at the docks tonight starting around 8, which I’m probably going to. I think it’s like $10 a person to get in. But anyway, you guys should come.”

Although the invitation was extended to both of them, Matt’s gaze lingered on Keith as he said it.

“Oh,” Lance said. “Well, thanks. Not sure if Keith will still be around tonight, since he has to go back to, uh—”

“School,” Keith supplied.

“Right, yeah. He goes to college out of town and has class tomorrow, so …” Lance shrugged. “You know.”

“Oh, okay.” Matt smiled, although there was a flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Well, if your plans change or anything …”

“Yeah, maybe we’ll check it out,” Lance said, pushing the door open further. “See you later, Matt!”

They stepped out into the bright afternoon light. After they’d walked a few paces away from the shop, Lance glanced over his shoulder as if he’d expected Matt to follow them, but the sidewalk behind them was empty. 

“ _Dude_ ,” he hissed, elbowing Keith in the arm. 

“What?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”

“Notice … ?”

Lance resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. Did he really need to spell it out?

“Matt was, like, totally hitting on you.”

He could practically see the brakes screeching to a halt in Keith’s mind, his face going red and his confused expression dropping into one of horror.

“He _was_?”

“Yeah, man. Gosh, Hunk always tells me _I’m_ too obvious when I flirt with people, but that was something else.”

Keith said nothing. Lance looked over at him, trying to gauge his reaction—did he look happy? Embarrassed? Appalled? Not that he _cared_ about how Keith felt about Matt flirting with him or anything. 

But Keith was difficult to read. He continued walking with his head lowered and his hands buried in the pockets of his new jacket. “Who’s Hunk?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh.” Lance blinked. “Hunk is my best friend. Met him when I moved out here for school. He’s lived in Altea studying photography for the past couple years.”

“Oh, cool,” Keith commented, and he sounded like he meant it.

“Yeah! He’s super talented, and like the nicest guy ever. You’d love him. Everyone does.” 

Lance almost stopped in his tracks then, remembering he’d promised to meet up with Hunk not too long from now. 

“In fact,” he added, “I was gonna meet up with him for lunch in a bit, if you want to join.”

“Oh …” Keith stiffened. “I don’t know. I mean, would that be weird?”

“Nah, why would it be weird? Hunk is really chill.” said Lance. 

Keith seemed to be mulling it over, frowning down at the cobblestones. “Well … maybe. I mean, I will need to go back at _some_ point, but …”

“Aw, come on,” Lance cut him off, trying to sound encouraging rather than desperate. After all, he _did_ need Keith to stick around if he was going to get that interview—but he didn’t want to make Keith suspicious, either. When he still sensed Keith’s hesitation, he added quickly, “It’ll be fun! And I bet you and Hunk will get along super well. Plus, you know, you’d get a taste of the authentic Altean experience—Altea City is famous for its outdoor cafés!” 

He knew he was probably pushing the envelope a little too hard and stopped himself. But to his surprise, he found that Keith was watching him with a faint smile like he found Lance’s enthusiasm amusing. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

Lance was about to open his mouth and keep insisting, but he stopped before he could take it too far. A “maybe” was better than nothing, after all, and he didn’t want to scare Keith off.

“Well,” he said at last, “we still have some time to kill before then, anyway. So, while you’re _thinking_ , do you wanna explore a little more?”

Maybe he was being a little too forward, but what the heck—if he was able to spend some more time with Keith, it was worth the risk. 

Besides, Keith didn’t seem at all opposed to the idea, immediately brightening at the offer.

“Yeah,” he said, with a soft and genuine smile. “I’d like that.”

  


* * *

  


Keith knew he should have headed back to the Castle of Lions hours ago, and that prolonging his little adventure would probably make things much worse in the long-run … but, well, he found that he couldn’t give it up quite yet. It just felt so _freeing_ to be wandering the streets of Altea without a horde of bodyguards around him, like he could breathe for the first time. 

He’d worried that the red jacket would make him stand out too easily, and he wasn’t one to purposefully draw attention to himself in the first place. But something about it had called to him. He generally didn’t get to wear anything this flashy—or even pick out clothes for himself, really—so though it was a seemingly insignificant thing, it felt like a small triumph.

Something about it seemed to have unlocked a new sense of confidence in him, and he found himself walking with his head held higher than he had before. It was easy to fall in step beside Lance, who was guiding him enthusiastically through the heart of the city.

Although they had only known each other for a few hours, Keith felt a strange sense of familiarity with Lance like they had met much longer ago. Maybe it was because of the way Lance spoke to him so naturally, like they were close friends and not strangers, but Keith found himself completely engaged in everything Lance said to him.

It was clear that Altea meant a great deal to him, based on the eager way he spoke about it. As they explored the streets, Lance pointed out various monuments and historical buildings, or tugged excitedly on Keith’s jacket sleeve to point out one enticing storefront or another. Mostly they just window-shopped—but even so, Keith still felt like he was experiencing the city the way it was meant to be experienced, even if they were only scraping the surface.

The entire time, though, he couldn’t ignore the sense of guilt that had been plaguing him. On the one hand, he was relieved that Lance hadn’t figured out his true identity yet. On the other hand, Lance was being so kind and so generous to him, Keith felt terrible about lying to him. 

Then of course there was the guilt over having left the Castle of Lions with no indication of where he was going, that he had missed the press conference, that Shiro was probably worried … but the thought of confronting any of those things made him feel almost physically ill, while the idea of continuing to roam Altea City with a complete stranger was much more appealing.

“Aw man, ice cream!” Lance exclaimed as they approached a nearby booth on one street corner. “Man, you’ve gotta try Altean ice cream if you haven’t had it before.”

“I haven’t,” Keith said truthfully. 

He didn’t resist when Lance grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him towards the ice cream cart. After a brief exchange with the friendly vendor, he found himself with a small ice cream cone in hand. Lance suggested they go sit on the stone steps of a nearby museum where a number of other tourists were gathered—many of them also eating, conversing, or just looking at their phones.

They sat down about halfway up the wide steps in the shade of a large lion statue. Keith tried the ice cream and was pleasantly surprised at the taste—it had a sweet, almost fruity flavor.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Lance said, already about halfway done with his own cone. He looked up at Keith and laughed. “You’ve got a little, uh …” He tapped on the tip of his own nose.

“What?” Keith said, then suddenly understood what Lance was indicating. In his eagerness to devour his ice cream, he hadn’t noticed the cold sensation on the tip of his nose. Embarrassed, he wiped the ice cream off of it with the back of his hand. “Oh ... thanks.”

“No problem.” Lance chuckled one more time, then polished off the end of his ice cream cone. “So, where to next?”

Keith hesitated. As much as he wanted to spend the whole day exploring the city, he also knew he could never pull it off. Sooner or later, someone would come looking for him. He would end up back at the Castle, back to where he started. 

Plus, he felt guilty for dragging Lance into this whole thing. Maybe it was best to stop this escapade in its tracks before it got too messy. 

"About that ..." Keith said carefully. "Listen, you've been super nice to me and just ... thank you. Thanks for taking me in last night when I was super messed up, and for showing me around the market and everything. I appreciate it. But ..." 

He stopped, noticing the way Lance's smile had faltered.

"But ... ?" Lance prompted, when the silence had stretched out a long time. 

Keith frantically tried to come up with an explanation. He couldn't tell Lance the truth, but maybe he could at least be a bit more honest. 

"Look, I didn't want to tell you earlier 'cause I was embarrassed about it," he said. "But ... I have really bad insomnia, so I started taking this pretty intense sleeping medication. And I may have taken some after drinking, which I wasn't supposed to do, and it had some … side effects."

"Oh. _That's_ what made you pass out in the middle of the plaza?" 

"Yeah." Keith winced. "I also kinda took it right before going out, which was a stupid mistake. Point is, no one really knows where I am. And I have a lot of ... responsibilities to get back to. You know, classes and stuff. So, I don't know if I should stick around much longer."

He brought his rambling to a stop, looking up at Lance expectantly. He had feared that Lance would look annoyed or upset, but instead he found that Lance just looked contemplative, his brow furrowing in thought. 

“What if,” Lance said at last, “you didn’t have to go back?”

Keith stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, just imagine … a whole day where you could do anything you wanted. No responsibilities to deal with, nowhere you had to be. What would you do?”

Normally, Keith would have dismissed such a question or given some forced, fabricated answer. But something about the earnest look on Lance’s face stopped him—the way he was closely watching Keith, hanging onto his every word. 

“I don’t know,” Keith said, taken aback by the question. “I … I guess I’d just want to do some of the things I’ve always wanted to do.”

Lance tilted his head. “Like … ?”

“Like, just wander around. Explore, take a boat ride, go to a museum, walk in the rain.” He stopped abruptly, his face heating. “That probably sounds stupid.”

To his surprise, Lance didn’t look at all judgmental. On the contrary, his face was still alight with excitement like Keith had just said the most brilliant thing in the world. 

“What? No, that doesn’t sound stupid at all! That sounds amazing.”

Keith looked down, huffing out a laugh. “Well, thanks. It does sound nice.”

“So then, why don’t you do it?”

Lance asked the question so casually, like he thought the answer was obvious. Not that Keith could blame him, since Lance didn’t really know what the circumstances were. As far as he knew, Keith was just some college kid skipping school and not a runaway prince. 

All Keith could muster was an intelligible, “Huh?”

“I don’t know about the walking-in-the-rain part,” Lance said, gesturing towards the blue sky, “but all those other things are entirely doable. So why don’t we do them? You and me.” 

When Keith still hesitated, Lance winked at him and elbowed him in the arm. “Come on, man. Live a little dangerously.”

Although the rational part of Keith’s mind kept telling him he should walk away, it was hard to ignore the wild flutter in his chest at Lance’s suggestion. 

“Really?” He looked Lance up and down, noting that he was still wearing his suit and tie. “Don’t you have work or something?”

Lance shook his head. “Nope! Only had to work this morning. I have the rest of the day off.” He jumped to his feet, standing a couple steps down from where Keith was sitting. He extended his hand. “So, what do you say? Are you coming or what?”

Keith lingered on the steps, staring at Lance’s outstretched hand and then up again at his encouraging grin. He quickly weighed his choices—thinking of the confining walls of the Castle of Lions, of press conferences and flashing camera lights, of schedules lined up for him in neat little boxes. 

And then he thought of cobblestone streets, the gleam of the city lights, of having the freedom to go absolutely anywhere and do whatever he wanted—and in the company of a handsome stranger, no less. 

In the end, the choice seemed pretty obvious.

With a slow smile, he reached up and took Lance’s hand. 

  


* * *

  


Lance was starting to feel guilty. Maybe he’d felt that way since he’d come up with this scheme in the first place, but in the past few hours it had become increasingly more apparent. 

The thing was, when he’d brought up the idea to Iverson about writing the article, he hadn’t known a thing about Prince Akira—only that he had a reputation for remaining out of the spotlight, that some people thought he was an asshole who viewed the general public as below him, which was why he hardly ever did interviews. 

So, Lance hadn’t expected someone who was so … _genuine_. Someone whose face lit up with curiosity and wonder as they strolled the city streets. Someone whose quiet nature didn’t feel snobby or guarded, but that he was thoughtful about choosing his words. 

He wasn’t sure what exactly he had expected, but he found that in the short time they’d been exploring Altea together, Prince Akira—Keith—kept surprising him. 

Which left him with quite the predicament, because he still had to write the article or he was going to get fired. But at this point, he didn’t know how he could ask Keith for an interview without it feeling like a betrayal. 

There was the other option, of course, of just leaving Keith completely in the dark—taking mental notes on everything he said throughout the day, then compiling it into an article after they’d parted ways. But that felt even _worse_. 

Well, there wasn’t any going back now. Either he was going to destroy his career or ruin this strange friendship he’d formed with an escaped prince. 

Lance didn’t know what he was going to do, but he figured he at least had a while longer to figure it out. In the meantime, he settled for casually observing Keith from across the outdoor café table where they were currently seated. He couldn’t exactly whip out a notebook and start taking notes, but he figured he could at least mentally file away some details to remember to include in his article.

He watched Keith’s movements—how he reached out to pluck a roll from the small basket at the center of the table, dug his fingers into it to tear it open, inhaling slightly with a satisfied smile as steam rose out of the bread. He tore a small piece of it off and chewed slowly, not seeming to notice Lance’s scrutiny. 

Realizing he was staring, Lance looked down at the roll in his own hands, which he hadn’t even started eating yet. He took a bite of it, scanning their surroundings for any sign of people watching them. Although they were under the shade of a large umbrella, Lance still felt exposed. Luckily, the people sitting at the tables around them seemed too preoccupied with their own conversations to notice anything.

_Relax_ , Lance told himself. _Act natural_. He took a sip from his glass of water, sparing another quick glance at Keith as he did so—after all, he would need to include some description of the prince’s appearance in his article, right? 

Now that he was thinking about it, he wasn’t even sure how he would describe what Keith looked like. His features were … striking. He had prominent cheekbones, his eyelashes a bit short but very dark. It was difficult to determine exactly what color his eyes were … sort of a dark silvery color that looked almost violet in a certain light—which was like, _come on_ , who the hell had violet eyes in real life? 

And although Lance had accused him of having a mullet several times, he had to begrudgingly admit to himself that the long hair suited Keith, effortlessly framing his face. Like … really, it was unfair. 

Lance didn’t realize how engrossed he was until he noticed the waiter standing by their table and nearly choked on his bread in surprise. 

“Good afternoon,” the waiter greeted them. “May I start you two off with something to drink?”

Lance coughed and swallowed before managing a polite smile. “An iced coffee for me, please.” 

“Same here,” said Keith.

“Excellent. Two iced coffees.” The waiter scribbled the order onto his notepad. “Do you need some more time deciding?” he asked, gesturing at the laminated menus lying on the table. 

“Oh … yeah, we’re actually waiting on another friend. So a few more minutes would be great, thanks,” Lance said. 

“Of course. I will be back shortly.” The waiter gave a slight bow of his head and walked away.

“So … just coffee, huh?” Lance raised an eyebrow at Keith. “No champagne?”

“Champagne?” Keith frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I was kidding. Mostly. Why, you’re not a champagne kinda guy?”

“Not in the middle of the day. Except on special occasions, I guess.”

Lance gasped in mock offense. “This isn’t a special occasion?” When Keith looked genuinely concerned Lance added, “Kidding again. But I’m curious … what do you consider to be a ‘special occasion’? A champagne-at-lunch occasion?”

Keith tapped his fingers against the side of his glass of water. “I don’t know, I guess something like … recently, my family and I had this big party for my dad, for the twentieth anniversary of, uh … the day he got his job.”

“Oh, cool. What does he do?” Lance asked, propping his chin on his hand. 

He knew he was playing with fire here, but also if he wanted Keith to believe that Lance truly didn’t know his identity, he would need to keep up the act. And if Lance thought Keith was just some average guy, asking these types of questions would be normal, right? 

“Oh, you know. Boring stuff,” Keith said, avoiding Lance’s gaze. “I guess you could say it’s … public relations.” 

“Huh, sounds like hard work.” 

“Yeah, not really my thing.” 

A somewhat bitter edge had crept into his tone, and he continued to stare off to one side. Although it sparked a sense of curiosity—and sympathy—in Lance, he pretended not to notice. 

“Don’t blame you,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “What about your dad, though? Does he like it? His job, that is?”

“I don’t know,” Keith answered. “He does complain about it a lot.” 

“Then why doesn’t he quit?”

Keith huffed, the edge of his mouth twitching upwards in amusement. “It’s not something he can get out of that easily. People with a job like his … they can’t really quit. Unless they get too unhealthy or something, I guess.”

Just then, their waiter came by again with a tray of two iced coffees and placed them on the table. Lance thanked the waiter, then raised his glass.

“To your dad’s health, then,” he said with a wink.

Keith raised his own glass and then took a sip of coffee. “Funny,” he said, still smirking, “that’s what everyone says.”

  


* * *

  


Shortly after they had started drinking their coffee, Lance’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see he’d received a text from Hunk. 

**hunk** : heyyy i had to park a little ways down the street but i'm walking over there right now. are you at the cafe already?

Lance discreetly looked up at Keith—who seemed too preoccupied with drinking coffee and people-watching to notice what Lance was doing—then texted back under the table. 

**lance** : HUNK!! thank god!!!! i was starting to think you weren't coming

**lance** : we're sitting outside at like the very front

There was a pause before Hunk started typing again. 

**hunk** : uh....we? who's "we"??

**lance** : you'll see ;)

**hunk** : that's not cryptic at all...

**lance** : you'll see why. just....don't say anything ok?

**hunk** : lance wtf are you talking about

**lance** : DON'T. SAY. ANYTHING.

**hunk** : ok ok fine i won't! jeez! be there in a minute.

Lance stashed his phone back in his pocket, craning his neck to look down the sidewalk and jiggling his leg up and down. Sure enough, it wasn't long until he saw Hunk walking down the street towards them.

"Hunk!" Lance called out to him.

Hunk stopped in his tracks, grinning as he caught sight of Lance waving to him. He maneuvered between the tables until he reached them.

"Hey, Lance. And hey, uhh ..." He saw Keith and froze. 

"Keith," Lance blurted. "This is my friend Keith. And Keith, this is Hunk."

"Yeah, Lance was telling me about you earlier," Keith said with a timid smile. "Nice to meet you."

"You too, man." Hunk returned the smile. He sat slowly down in the chair next to Lance without tearing his gaze away from Keith. "Hey, has anyone ever told you that you really look like the— _ow_!" 

He cut off mid-sentence as Lance stepped on his foot under the table—maybe a little harder than he’d meant to. Hunk glared at him, and Lance gave him a meaningful look that he hoped Hunk would understand. Instead, Hunk raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“Are you okay?” Keith asked.

“What? Yeah, yeah. Just, y’know, banged my knee,” Hunk said, although he still side-eyed Lance as he said it. “So … Keith. Where are you from?”

Keith had been taking another sip of coffee and stopped mid-drink. He put his cup down again. “I, uh … school.”

Sensing that Keith was floundering, Lance cut in, “Keith is still in college.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you studying?”

“Astronomy,” Keith said without missing a beat, which made Lance wonder if it was a subject he was actually interested in.

“Whoa, that’s awesome! So you’re gonna be like, an astronaut or something?”

“I don’t know about _that_ , but it would be pretty cool.” Keith shifted in his chair, obviously wanting to steer the attention away from himself. “Anyway … what about you? What kind of work do you do?”

“Me?” Hunk said. “Oh, I’m sorta in the same field of work as Lance—” 

In a panic, Lance jammed his elbow into his water glass. Naturally, it tipped over and spilled all over the table and caused Hunk to exclaim in surprise. It was _sort of_ an accident, but he figured he could use it to his advantage. 

“Oh, man,” he blurted. “I’m so sorry, Hunk.”

“It’s okay, man. There isn’t even that much—” 

“We should go find some paper towels or something,” Lance said pointedly. “Inside.”

“Lance, really, it’s not a big deal—”

“Come on, I’ll go with you.” Lance leapt to his feet and grabbed Hunk by the arm. “We’ll be back in like two minutes, Keith.”

Keith looked a little bewildered, staring at the puddle of spilled water, but he managed a nod. “Okay. Do you want any help with—”

“Nope! We’re good. Be right back.”

Lance pulled Hunk towards the café and shouldered open the door. He led his friend between the rows of tables inside until they reached the small hallway at the back that led to the bathroom door. 

Once they were in the bathroom, Lance let go of Hunk’s arm and paced the row of stalls, glancing underneath them for signs of anyone occupying them. Fortunately, they were all empty. 

“Uh, Lance?” Hunk said, still hovering by the sinks. “Dude, what is up with you? No offense, but you’re acting super weird. You didn’t even spill that much water on me, you know. It’s really not—” 

“I know, I know,” Lance interrupted, walking back to him. “That was a distraction.”

“A distraction for what?” 

“So I could talk to you privately for a second. Listen, about Keith … you recognized him, didn’t you?”

“Uh …” Hunk tugged at his collar. “Well, I mean, I was gonna tell him he looked an awful lot like Prince Akira, but that’s … You’re not saying—” 

“Oh, I _am_ saying.”

“ _What_? No. No way.” Hunk grabbed Lance by his upper arms. “Are you serious? Keith is the _prince_?”

“Keep your voice down, man! But yeah, it’s true. Keith _is_ Prince Akira. Also, _ow_ , you’re kinda crushing my arms.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Hunk said, letting go of Lance. He took a step back, almost bumping into the paper towel dispenser. Then he rubbed at his temples, pushing his headband askew in the process. 

“Okay, please explain this to me, ‘cause I am _really_ confused. First of all, I thought the prince was, like, deathly ill. Isn’t that why he missed the press conference this morning?”

“I don’t know, I guess that’s some kinda coverup. I’m pretty sure he ran away.”

“Ran away from the palace? Why?”

“Not sure, but it seems like he doesn’t get out much.” 

Almost as soon as he’d spoken the words, Lance realized the truth behind them. He thought of the way Keith’s eyes sparked with interest at the sight of the city streets, how he seemed content just to do ordinary things like window-shop and sit at a café. Had he never had the freedom to do those kinds of things before? The thought made Lance feel suddenly … sad.

“Okay, but I still don’t understand,” Hunk said, disrupting Lance’s train of thought. “How’d you even _meet_ him?”

Lance rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, about that … I kinda found him passed out on a bench in the central plaza. He claims it was some combination of alcohol and sleep meds, but I don’t know whether he made that up or—whatever, it doesn’t matter. Point is, he was too out of it to get a cab back home, so I sorta brought him to my place and—” 

“Oh, my God,” Hunk choked out, hand flying to cover his mouth. “You brought him _home_ with you?” 

“What? No, no. That’s …” Lance held up his hands defensively, his face heating up. “It wasn’t like that! First of all, you know I wouldn’t take advantage of someone that way. And secondly, we didn’t—never mind. I just took him to my apartment so he’d have somewhere safe to stay for the night, that’s all. I had no idea who he was!” 

Hunk’s shoulders sagged, his hand dropping from his mouth. “Okay, well … how’d you find out he’s the prince, then? Did he tell you?”

Lance winced. “Not exactly.”

He explained as best as he could—how he had vaguely recognized Keith, but hadn’t made the connection. Then how he’d gone to work without knowing the press conference had been canceled, how Iverson had chewed him out, how Lance had recognized Keith’s picture from the newspaper. 

“Which is what brings me to the other thing,” he said. 

“Oh, jeez. There’s an ‘other thing’? What is it?”

“Well … Iverson was _super_ mad, and I had just realized that I had a sleeping prince in my apartment. So, I might have sorta promised Iverson I would get an interview with Akira and write an article for him by tomorrow.”

The words came out in a rush, and Lance flinched as he anticipated Hunk’s response.

It came shortly afterward, as the realization dawned on Hunk’s face. He clutched the edge of the sink as if to steady himself. “Lance, _what_? Are you kidding me? You’re kidding.”

“I know, I know. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was panicking so bad it was like I just blacked out and said it before I could stop myself.” 

Lance bit his lip, running a hand through his hair. “But the thing is, now I have to write this article or Iverson is gonna fire me. And I can’t lose this job, Hunk. You know how hard I’ve worked for this.”

Hunk’s expression shifted upon hearing the note of panic in Lance’s voice—the horrified disbelief fading into a frown of concern. “Whoa, okay. Slow down, Lance. You’re not gonna lose your job. This is all pretty crazy, but we’ll make it work somehow. First of all, does Akira—or Keith, I guess we’re calling him—know you’re writing this article about him?”

Lance shook his head. “He doesn’t even know I’m a journalist.”

“Okay, that’s kinda what I figured. Does he even know that you know that he’s the prince?”

Again, Lance shook his head. 

“Oh, boy,” Hunk muttered. He took a step away from the sinks, pacing nervously back and forth.

“Listen, I know it’s not an … ideal situation,” Lance said, “but I think we can pull this off. I hate lying to Keith, but I figure I can at least earn his trust first before I tell him the truth. And then if he doesn’t want to be interviewed or whatever, fine. 

“But if he _does,_ it’s a win-win situation for all of us, right? Keith gets to explore Altea City and have a good time. I get to write the article, you get to take the photos, and this is a huge story that changes both of our careers—” 

“I get to what now?” Hunk said, crossing his arms. “ _That’s_ why you wanted me to bring my camera?” 

“Well, yeah. Can’t have a good article without photographs. Plus, you know, Iverson kinda asked for them. Or … demanded for them.”

“Right, of course he did,” Hunk sighed. 

“But here’s the other thing,” Lance said, taking a step forward before Hunk could protest. “Iverson told me that if we manage to get this article, it would be worth a lot. Like, a _lot_ a lot.”

“Yeah? How much are we talking?”

Lance looked towards the door and leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Fifty thousand.”

Hunk’s jaw dropped. “Fifty thousand _dollars_?”

“ _Shh_ , do you want the whole restaurant to hear? But yeah, you heard that right. Fifty grand.”

“Holy cow.” Hunk pushed his bangs back from his forehead. “I mean … I don’t know, Lance. Like, I want to help out, but … this is crazy. How are we even gonna do this? What’s the plan?”

“I don’t really have a _plan_ , per se,” Lance said carefully. “But my thinking is, we can take Keith to a bunch of different places around Altea—you know, all the tourist-y spots. I can distract him by pointing out all the important stuff and giving long-winded explanations, and you can subtly sneak in a picture or two. Piece of cake, right?” 

“I guess. I’m not sure if I like how this whole thing feels, but … if you really think we can pull it off, I’m in.”

"Really?" Lance gave his friend a firm pat on the shoulder. "You're the best, Hunk." 

"Yeah, yeah. Now, how are we gonna do this?"

"Well, first of all, we should be getting back to Keith, since he's probably wondering where we are. Secondly ... you brought your camera, right?" 

"Yeah, it's in my car."

"Okay, perfect." Lance clapped his hands together. "So, we go back and tell Keith we're taking him sightseeing. You say something about getting your camera from your car so you can take photos of important monuments or whatever. I think we can take it from there."

Although he still looked a little skeptical, Hunk nodded. "Okay. Got it."

Lance grabbed some paper towels—since he remembered just then that had been their whole cover-up—and then they walked casually out of the bathroom again like nothing had happened, maneuvered through the café and back to the outside table where they had left Keith by himself.

Some paranoid part of Lance had feared that Keith had left without them, so he let out a mental sigh of relief when he saw Keith was still sitting there, absently swirling around the ice at the bottom of his glass. 

"Hey, sorry about that," Lance said with an apologetic grin, sliding back into his original seat and mopping up the spilled water with the paper towels. 

"Oh ... no problem," said Keith. If he was at all suspicious about why Hunk and Lance had been gone so long, he didn't comment on it or show any sign of it on his face.

Their waiter stopped by right then to take their lunch orders. As soon as he had walked away again, Lance leaned in and shot Keith a winning smile.

"So, we were thinking that after lunch we might do a little sight-seeing. I was just telling Hunk how you're from out of town, so there's probably a bunch of things you want to see while you're here, right?"

Keith looked between him and Hunk. "Really? Both of you are gonna take the whole day off to show me around?"

"Well, yeah," Lance said with an easy shrug. "Like I told you, I have the rest of the day off anyway. So does Hunk. So ... what do you say? Where to first?"

"I ... I don't know. Honestly, I'm not super familiar with the area."

"That's okay, I'm sure we can figure something out. Right, Hunk?" Lance said, elbowing Hunk in the arm. 

"Oh, yeah. Definitely," Hunk stammered. "There's all kinds of stuff—museums, the gardens, the docks ..." He counted off the options on his fingers. 

"We should make some kinda schedule," said Lance. Noticing how Keith bristled at the word he quickly added, "Like a _fun_ schedule, that is. Of all the places we wanna go before the end of the day. You got a pen on you, Hunk?"

"Sure do, buddy." 

Hunk presented a pen from his jacket pocket, which Lance took from his hand and uncapped with a flourish. He grabbed an unused napkin from the tin dispenser at the center of the table, and slapped it down on the surface. "Okay, here we go." He already had a few ideas forming, and he started to scribble them down as Hunk and Keith both craned their necks to see what he was writing.

"Trust me," he told them with a grin. "This is gonna be the best day ever."

  


* * *

  


Outside the Castle of Lions, Shiro stood side-by-side with Alfor and tried not to appear as restless as he felt. As tempting as it was to fidget with his hands or shift on his feet or do _something_ to rid himself of the pent-up nervous energy, he stood with his shoulders squared and his arms crossed. He mimicked the Altean king's posture, raising his head to look up at the helicopter descending towards them. 

It had been several hours, and still no sign of Keith. Shiro had half hoped that he would just return to the palace of his own accord, all in one piece and with a perfectly reasonable explanation for his absence. But Shiro knew his brother better than that. While he didn't know for a fact that Keith had run away, he had a gut feeling that it was the case—especially when he kept remembering the argument they'd had the night before. 

It gave Shiro a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he realized that this was all probably his fault. But blaming himself would do no good, either. It's what Adam had told him over the phone that morning, when Shiro had frantically called him. _"Don't beat yourself up, Takashi. I know you're worried about Keith. I am, too. But he'll come back, I'm sure of it."_

Shiro tried to cling to those words, tried to ignore the sting of dread he felt as the hulking form of the helicopter blocked out the sun. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, his jaw clenching as the hovering vehicle sunk lower and lower to the ground. The drone of the propeller made his ears roar, and the sudden gust of wind stirred up clouds of dust. 

Kolivan stood a short distance ahead of him and Alfor, hands linked behind his back as he waited for the helicopter to land. As soon as it touched the ground, he held his fist against his chest in salute. 

The propeller came to a whirring stop, and the hatch in the side of the helicopter slid open. Several figures jumped out of it one after another, landing so skillfully that their boots hardly made any sound against the ground. They were dressed head-to-toe in black, every one of them bearing a stoic expression. 

Shiro struggled not to frown as his gaze roamed over the line of Blade members. He knew they had a reputation of being ruthless, and that seemed to be reflected in the hardened look in their eyes, the way their hands clenched into fists at their sides, the scars that marked their faces. 

He had a feeling that Keith would suspect something and run the other way even at the slightest glimpse of one of those guys. And Shiro wouldn't blame him for it. But as skeptical as he was of this plan, he bit back his protests. He did want his brother to be found, after all.

Right then, he felt a firm weight of a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Alfor piercing him with a serious stare. 

"Listen, Takashi. I know this is not your preferred plan," the king said, as if he had sensed Shiro’s thoughts. "However, I can assure you that I trust the Blade with my life. With their assistance, I'm sure Akira will be returned to the Castle very soon."

Shiro managed a weak smile. "Thank you. I appreciate you providing so much help to find him." That much was true at least, even if the help was not in the form Shiro had hoped for.

Alfor dropped his hand from Shiro's shoulder, turning to face Kolivan as he approached.

"Your highness," Kolivan said with a brief bow of his head. "We are prepared to leave at your word."

"Very well. Perhaps first we should hold a brief meeting about how to best divide up the search."

"Understood. We can be ready to reconvene in the conference room within five minutes." 

The two men grasped hands in a firm handshake, then stepped apart.

Alfor gave Shiro a pat on the back. "I'm headed back into the Castle. I expect you will be attending the meeting as well?"

"Yes, of course," Shiro said, although his attention was divided. He kept sneaking glances at the Blade members, who were now gathered in a cluster and talking to each other in low voices that were barely audible from where Shiro stood. "I'll be there soon."

"Perfect, I will see you in the conference room."

Alfor turned to start back towards the palace, but right then Shiro blurted, "Alfor, wait."

The king looked over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"I just ... wanted to apologize that this happened," Shiro said. "I know this whole ordeal is taking up a lot of your valuable time. I appreciate everything you're doing to help."

Although there was still a tired glaze to Alfor's eyes, he smiled politely. "There's no need to apologize. Or to thank me. Prince Akira is missing, after all, and what matters most is that we bring him back safely."

Shiro held his tongue, as tempted as he was to point out that Keith had probably left the Castle of his own accord—and that it had probably been Shiro's fault. Instead, he just swallowed and nodded gratefully in return. 

Alfor didn't seem to have the time to wait for any further response, as he turned around and began to march back up the hill towards the Castle. Shiro wondered if maybe he was supposed to follow, but he held back. 

Once again, he observed the line of Blade members, who had broken from their circle of conversation and were now making their way up the slope. 

"Kolivan," he said, stopping their leader in his tracks. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Kolivan hesitated, glancing from Shiro to the retreating Blade members and back again, then nodded. "Yes, but I don’t have much time."

"Understood. It’s just, I wanted to sort of ... warn you. My brother can be a little ... temperamental. Don't get me wrong—he's not horribly violent or anything. It's just that if you try to use any kind of force on him, he's probably going to fight back." 

He couldn't help but wince a little at the memory of what Keith had been like as a teenager—how, the few times their parents had enrolled him in private schools, he had sometimes returned home with bloodied knuckles or a black eye.

"We will do what we can," Kolivan said, although he didn't sound fazed by Shiro's warning. "Hopefully he will come with us willingly, but we may need to use force if necessary." 

The words made Shiro feel a bit sick to his stomach, but he nodded. "I understand. But I ..." He hesitated, taking a deep breath and sighing heavily. "I don't want to see him get hurt."

The briefest flicker of sympathy crossed Kolivan's eyes, which was probably the first time Shiro had seen him display any semblance of emotion so far. 

"I know. I assure you, Prince Takashi, we will bring your brother home."

With that, he turned and marched up the hill after his fellow Blade members. 

Shiro hung back a moment longer, watching the black-clad figures as they reached the crest of the hill. "I hope you're right," he said under his breath, and then followed after them.

  


* * *

  


Keith felt as if the past hour or so had passed in a dreamlike haze. Almost as soon as they’d finished lunch at the café, Lance led them on the first leg of their adventure. 

First, they’d visited an old bell tower on a hilltop not far from the café. The tower itself hadn’t been much to look at, its stone walls faded and crumbling. But the view of Altea had been incredible, with its colorful buildings and winding streets painted against the landscape below. 

Next, they’d taken a short boat ride down the river that wound through the center of the city. The long, narrow boat had been a little crowded with tourists, which had set Keith on edge at first—but he’d quickly realized that everyone was too preoccupied taking pictures of the passing scenery to notice or recognize him. 

As his anxiety had worn away, he’d become absorbed in their surroundings—entranced by the intricate carvings on the stone bridges they passed under and the tall buildings, historical monuments, and colorful gardens that lined either side of the wide river.

It had been easy to get lost in it all, to listen to the tour guide’s narration as if he’d fallen under a spell. He’d gotten distracted once in a while by Lance lightly nudging him in the arm and leaning in close to mutter something to him as he pointed at something on the horizon. But Keith had found that he didn’t mind those distractions so much, besides that they made his heart do some funny things. 

When they’d stepped off the boat, they were a few minutes’ walk from the National Altean Historic Museum—which had been the next part of Lance’s plan.

So now Keith found himself meandering through the cavernous halls of the museum, wandering between glass cases of ancient artifacts and standing in front of enormous paintings. Lance and Hunk seemed eager to dash from one thing to the next and see absolutely everything in the entire huge museum—but Keith found that he preferred to linger in front of each item, reading the descriptions and marveling at every tiny detail. 

After a while, Lance seemed to sense that Keith wanted to take his time, and he kept lingering by Keith’s side as Hunk went off on his own to take photos of just about every work of art with the camera he’d brought. 

“Hey, Keith,” Lance said, tugging on Keith’s sleeve. 

“Hmm?”

“Look.” Lance pointed at a small statue in a glass case—what appeared to be a lion-like creature with a terrifying mustached human face and giant wings sprouting from its head. “It’s you.”

The words didn't register at first, as Keith blinked at the statue behind the glass, and then back at Lance's wicked grin. It was impossible to keep a smile from rising to his own face, even as he tried to frown in mock offense. "Hey," he protested, but there wasn't much bite to it. 

Lance continued chuckling to himself as they moved on to a small nearby hallway, where the walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with tapestries. Although the tapestries had faded over time, there were still hints of the vivid hues woven amongst their threads—reds, greens, and blues. The depictions seemed to be mapping out stories of important battles and towering castles. The figure of a white lion appeared in many of the pieces, obviously a mythical figure of significance. 

Keith stopped walking in front of one of the tapestries, coming to such an abrupt halt that Lance nearly ran into him. He took a step closer to observe the details: blooming flowers and trees surrounding a tall woman with dark skin and flowing black hair, a peaceful smile on her face. The description on the wall beside it titled it _The Lion Goddess_. 

"Beautiful, huh?" Lance said. "She's like, this super cool mythological figure. Legends have it she took down this evil demon called Zarkon with her magic powers. If you haven't heard of her, I definitely recommend looking up some of the stories."

Still entranced by the detail of the tapestry, Keith nodded. "It's just so crazy to think how _old_ all this stuff is," he said. His face immediately heated up, as the comment hadn't sounded as intelligent out loud as it had in his head.

But when he looked over at Lance, he was smiling at Keith like he'd just said the most interesting thing in the world. 

"I know, right? That's part of what I really love about museums. Like, not only is the art nice to look at, but there's just so much _history_. Like, there's this stuff that's hundreds of years old just sitting right there in front of you." He gestured enthusiastically at the hallway of tapestries around them. He grinned over at Keith and then his smile faltered. "I—sorry. I'll stop before I start rambling." 

Keith blinked, a little taken aback. Although Lance still seemed relatively cheerful, there was a sense of genuine guilt beneath the words that took Keith by surprise. 

"What? You weren't rambling," he said, a little more insistently than he'd intended to. He quickly looked away with his face burning. "I understand what you mean, and you're right. It _is_ really cool. Like, it's crazy to think someone made this whole thing by hand." He took a step closer to the tapestry as he spoke, observing each tiny colorful stitch in the fabric. 

"Exactly!" Lance exclaimed. "Like, I can't imagine all the time that must've taken."

Keith nodded in agreement, still mesmerized by the tapestry hanging before them. He probably could have stood there all day staring at it, taking in every detail. But right then, Lance tugged on his sleeve and pulled him towards another nearby gallery.

"C'mon, this way. This next room is one of my favorites." 

He led Keith through a nearby doorway, which was surrounded by stones engraved with ancient carvings. Keith had only been able to see a small fraction of the room through the doorway, but now he gasped softly as they walked out into the wide open space. 

A domed ceiling towered over them, so high up that Keith had to tilt his head all the way back to look at it. It was decorated with an intricate design—white clouds and birds painted against a cerulean sky. Alcoves lined the round room, occupied by marble statues of ancient deities. On the far end of the room was an enormous stained-glass window, and the sunlight shining through it cast colorful patterns across the tiled floor. 

"This is ... amazing," Keith breathed, still taking it all in. Even though they were the only people standing in the room, there seemed to be a quiet reverence to the atmosphere that made him feel like he shouldn't raise his voice. 

"Isn't it?" Lance said. He stepped up next to Keith, tilting his face up as he observed the cavernous space. "It's especially beautiful at this time of day, right when the sun is shining through the windows."

Keith looked over at him, and his pulse skipped a beat or two at the sight—Lance standing there with his hands in his pockets, the colorful lights highlighting the angles of his face. 

Mentally shaking himself, Keith cleared his throat and looked away again. "What is this place, anyway?" 

"It's a part of an ancient Altean temple that was restored after the Galran-Altean War," Lance explained, then bit his lip. "Unfortunately, most of it was destroyed in the war. But they at least managed to conserve this one part of it."

Keith's stomach dropped upon hearing the explanation. As he looked around the room, at the remarkable architecture, the painted ceiling, the artfully crafted statues ... it pained him to think that there had once been so much _more_ of it, and all of it had been reduced to ruin.

He looked down at the tiled floor and remembered what Allura had said to him the night before _. Our countries have not had the most ... amicable history._ He had known this to be true, known that Daibazaal and Altea had been at war with each other many years before—but it was another thing entirely to be faced with it, to be hit with the unforgivable acts his own people had committed. 

"Keith?" Lance said, after the silence had stretched out for nearly a minute. "You okay?"

"What? Oh ... yeah," Keith stammered, snapping back to the present again. "I was just thinking, that's all." He looked all around the room one more time, trying to imagine what it had looked like at the peak of its glory. 

"Thanks," he said at last, "for showing me this."

Lance looked a little surprised by the display of genuine gratitude, before his expression melted into an easy smile again.

"No problem. This is one of my favorite places in the whole city." He turned away again, looking up at the paintings on the ceiling. "Sometimes I like to just come here to walk around the galleries. It's peaceful, you know? But I've always loved this room in particular. There's just something special about it.

Keith hung onto every word, taking in the peaceful atmosphere around them and reflecting on the time they'd spent together so far—window-shopping in the streets, sitting at the café, taking a boat ride down the river. It all felt too good to be true, like a dream he was going to wake up from at any moment. There had to be a catch somewhere.

"Why are you being so nice to me, anyway?"

Heat rushed to Keith’s face as soon as he’d blurted out the question. But ... well, he also genuinely wanted to know. After all, he hadn't even known Lance twenty-four hours, and yet for some reason he was willing to take Keith exploring throughout Altea City all day. Part of him feared that Lance really _had_ guessed at his identity by now—but if that was the case he would have said something ... right?

"It's just ... we barely know each other," he stammered, when Lance just stared at him. "And, I don't know. I'm just wondering why you're doing all this for me." 

_Shit_. He should've kept his mouth shut. Now Lance probably thought he was being too confrontational, or that he wasn't grateful for everything Lance had done for him, or ...

His panicked train of thought came to a halt, though, when he saw that Lance's look of surprise had transformed into a thoughtful expression, like he was actually considering the question.

Lance buried his hands in his jacket pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "I don't know," he said at last. "I guess you just seemed ... lost." He seemed to choose the word carefully, but then winced as soon as he said it. "Like, literally, of course. But also ... metaphorically."

That hadn't been the answer Keith was expecting, and he let out a small scoff. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, I don't mean it in a bad way." Lance removed his hands from his pockets to wave them defensively. "Just that you'd never gotten to see all of Altea before, and I thought that—you know—you deserved a day to walk around and explore. To see everything."

If most people had said something like that to Keith, he probably would have doubted their honesty. But there was something about the way Lance said it—how his words were so carefully chosen—that made Keith trust that his intent was genuine.

“Well, I appreciate it,” he said, managing a smile. “Seriously.” 

Lance looked a bit surprised, but he smiled back. 

A brief silence fell over them, but somehow it didn’t feel awkward. It felt natural, comfortable even, like they were in their own secure bubble—secluded in the safe haven of the ancient Altean temple. 

Keith didn’t even realize how much time had passed before Lance suddenly looked away and cleared his throat. 

“Anyway … we should probably get going, huh?” He playfully elbowed Keith in the arm. “There’s still plenty more of the city to see. C’mon!”

With that, he turned around and headed towards the exit. Keith remained standing in the same spot, feeling as if he’d just woken up from a dream. He looked around once more at the spacious room around him, dwelling briefly in the peaceful atmosphere as he committed the details to memory. 

Then, smiling faintly to himself, he turned and followed after Lance’s retreating form. 

  


* * *

  


“It’s not an authentic Altean experience until you’ve ridden around the city on one of these,” Lance said with a grin, patting the seat of the white vespa he’d just rented at a nearby corner. 

Keith stood a couple of feet away, observing the small motorbike with an expression that was equal parts wary and excited. Lance couldn’t quite tell what it was, but there seemed to be a different energy radiating from him ever since they’d left the museum—something cautious and observant, like he was seeing things in a new light.

“Are you sure that thing is gonna fit both of us?”

“Yeah, man. They’re meant to fit two people. Just look around!”

Lance swept his arm out to gesture towards the street. Several other vespas sped between the rows of cars, most of them carrying pairs of people. At the back of his mind, he realized that most of those were probably _couples_ , but … well, he hoped Keith didn’t notice that.

"What about Hunk?" Keith asked. 

"Hmm? Oh, he's not a big fan of motorbikes. Makes him nauseous. He's gonna follow us in his car." 

They'd returned to the street where they had originally parked, and Hunk had already walked towards his car. 

Lance was about to hop on the vespa, but he hesitated. "One sec," he told Keith, then dashed over to Hunk right as he opened the car door. 

"Hey, man," he said, then lowered his voice a little—even though he was pretty sure Keith was out of earshot. "Did you get any good shots yet?" 

Hunk’s camera still hung around his neck. He had of course not been trying to be too conspicuous, pretending to take more interest in the scenery than in getting pictures of Keith, but Lance had seen him sneak a few photos here and there. 

"I don't know," Hunk said, glancing in Keith's direction. Keith didn't seem to be taking any interest in their conversation, too preoccupied with walking around the vespa and inspecting it closely. "I haven't gotten a good chance to look through them all yet, but I think I've managed to get a few good ones so far." 

"Good, good," Lance said. He had been about to say something else, but it immediately slipped from his mind as he looked over his shoulder.

"Lance?" 

"Hmm?" Blinking, Lance turned back around to face Hunk again. 

"Is something wrong?"

"What? No, no. Nothing's wrong." Lance ran a hand through his hair, forcing a smile onto his face. "Guess I'm just nervous about this whole plan falling apart. But hey, it seems to be going well so far." 

Hunk still looked skeptical, but he nodded. "We probably shouldn't push our luck, though," he said. "How long are you planning to keep this up?" 

Now _that_ was a good question, one that Lance definitely didn't have the answer to. He knew, of course, that eventually Keith would have to leave and go back to his princely duties or whatever ... but the thought caused an unpleasant prickling feeling under his skin, some emotion that he couldn't name. 

"I don't know," he said, forcing a casual shrug. "Until whenever he wants to leave, I guess. The more information we get on him, the better."

Even as he said it, the words felt strange on his tongue, like someone else was speaking through him. There was that nagging, itching feeling again. _Damn it._ Just a few hours ago, this had all seemed like a foolproof plan, but now Lance could feel it quickly getting out of hand. 

Hunk looked like he was going to say something else, but then he sighed and slid into the front seat of his car. "I guess you're right. Just ... try not to get into trouble."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" 

"I—" Hunk started to say, then cut himself off as he noticed something through the windshield.

Lance followed his gaze and saw that Keith was now watching them, tilting his head with a quizzical frown. Lance shot him a grin and a small wave, indicating that he'd be there in a second. 

"Never mind," he said, turning to Hunk again. "Are you sure you're gonna be able to drive and take pictures at the same time?"

"Pretty sure, yeah." Hunk closed the car door and leaned out the open window, smirking. "I've taken photos under weirder circumstances before." 

"Huh … You’ll have to tell me about that later. Anyway, I'll try to go pretty slow so you can follow us easily." He stepped back. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a prince to escort around the city." 

He ignored the way Hunk rolled his eyes in response, then turned around and strolled back to where he'd left Keith by the vespa.

"What was that about?" Keith asked.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing," Lance said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We were just discussing some ... weekend plans. Anyway—" He swung a leg over the motorbike and scooted forwards on the seat to make room for Keith to get on behind him. "Ready to go?" 

Keith smirked. "You know it," he said, and he climbed on after Lance. 

Immediately, Lance felt an electric feeling course up his spine at their sudden close proximity. The seat shifted under their weight, and then he could practically feel the heat radiating from Keith's body against his back. 

He cleared his throat, adjusting his hands on the handlebars. "You, uh, might want to hold onto something. So you don't fall off."

"Oh," Keith said. "Right."

A moment later, Lance felt a pair of hands resting on his shoulders—light and hesitant, but enough to send a strange tingling sensation down his arms. _Come on,_ he reminded himself. _Keep it together._

"Okay," he said, leaning forward and starting up the engine. "Here we go."

As he squeezed the handles and steered away from the curb, he heard a small gasp from behind him. Keith's grip on his shoulders tightened, and Lance tried not to let that distract him as he started to drive down the narrow street at a leisurely pace. 

He glanced at the rearview mirror and only caught a glimpse of Keith's face—but he'd seen the way Keith was looking around at the scenery, his eyes wide with awe. The sight distracted Lance for a moment and the vespa veered towards the center of the road—and Keith yelped at the sudden movement and threw his arms around Lance's waist, which was even _more_ of a distraction—but Lance quickly got the vehicle back in control again.

They were soon weaving their way down the streets of Altea, taking in the sights of the historical city around them. Lance excitedly pointed out the highlights, directing Keith's attention towards different monuments, fountains, and statues. It was a little difficult to communicate what with the rushing of the wind in their ears, but Lance was able to get most of it across by shouting over his shoulder at Keith or by briefly gesturing in one direction or another.

Hunk’s yellow car trailed after them. Typically it was visible in the vespa’s rearview mirror, but there were also a few times where he pulled up alongside them, or even drove ahead of them—no doubt trying to get as many photo angles as possible. Lance tried to keep Keith distracted, guiding his attention towards their surroundings. 

Every time he caught a glimpse of Keith's face, Lance saw how awestruck he looked as he took in the colorful city around them. His arms were still wrapped around Lance's waist—at first, his grip had been stiff, but it had since relaxed. Now the loose embrace felt so natural that at times Lance didn't even think about it—but when he _did_ think about it, he couldn't control the warmth that spread up into his face. It only grew harder to contain as Keith moved gradually closer to him over the course of their ride, his chest pressed up against Lance's spine. 

Lance felt a subtle vibration against his back as Keith laughed, and it made his own mouth turn up at one corner. A sudden surge of adrenaline rushed through him at the sensation of the wind whipping around them and the buildings flying past them on either side. He sped up the pace of the motorbike a little, letting out an enthusiastic whoop as he tore around the next corner—

Which was when he realized he'd just accidentally sped through a red light.

Fortunately there had been no cars coming, or they might've easily gotten hit. Still, Lance mentally scolded himself for having not paid close enough attention. He would just need to be more careful of—

Before he could even complete the thought, he caught sight of the red and blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror, followed by the wail of a siren coming from behind them. 

Lance cursed under his breath. Meanwhile, Keith had gone completely still and silent, his arms tightening around Lance's waist. 

It occurred to Lance how deeply in trouble they were then, especially when he caught sight of Keith's face in the rearview mirror and saw that it had gone white with panic. Because not only were they being pulled over, but there was the possibility that the police officer would recognize Keith as the prince—in fact, it was likely the police were already on the lookout for him.

The revelation did nothing to calm Lance's racing heart. His instinct was to just step on the gas and hightail it out of there, but he knew that ultimately that would probably do more harm than good. Instead, he pulled the vespa to the side of the road. The police car came to a stop at a short distance behind them. 

Keith's arms were still wrapped firmly around his waist, and Lance carefully grasped Keith by the wrist to pry his arm away. "Sorry about this, Keith," he said, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. "I should've watched where I was going. Don't worry, I'll handle this."

As he jumped off the vespa, he saw that Keith was still sitting stiffly and glaring at the ground as if he was terrified to make eye contact with anyone. But he managed a small nod in acknowledgement. 

Lance squared his shoulders and straightened his tie, before he strolled towards the parked police car. The officer had already stepped out of his vehicle and stood beside it. He crossed his arms as Lance approached, glaring at him.

Lance walked at a casual pace, forcing the best apologetic smile he could muster. "Afternoon, officer."

The policeman didn't return the greeting, only nodded towards the vespa and then gestured at the traffic light behind them. "Sir, did you see that stoplight?"

"I ... yes. Yes, I did," Lance stammered, his smile faltering. "I mean, no I didn't. Or, well, I _did_ but not until after I turned the corner."

_Great_. He was always so good at talking himself out of bad situations, so why was he failing so miserably now of all times? Well ... it probably had something to do with the fact that he was trying to hide the fact that he had a runaway prince currently seated on the vespa he had rented. But, still. 

The police officer's eyes narrowed and he looked like he was about to say something else. Before he could, Lance continued, “I know, I was going too fast and I wasn’t looking where I was going. Next time, I’ll be more careful.” 

This time, he managed to speak with a bit more clarity, and he threw in the most innocent smile he could manage just for good measure. 

The cop still didn't look entirely convinced, his arms remaining crossed over his chest and his frown unwavering. But after hearing Lance’s apology, his posture relaxed and he let out a disgruntled huff.

"Fine," he said. "I'll let you off with a warning this time. But if you ever—"

Before he could even finish the threat, his words were drowned out by the sudden rev of an engine. He looked at something over Lance's shoulder and his face immediately reddened with rage. " _Hey_!" he shouted.

Startled, Lance whirled around to see what the policeman was yelling at—and when he saw, he felt as if all the blood had drained from his face. 

The spot where he'd parked the vespa was empty, and the motorbike was now halfway down the street ... carrying Keith with it. 

"Oh," Lance said. "You've gotta be kidding me." 

  


* * *

  


Keith hadn't meant to start the motorbike. Well, not _really_.

It was hard to say what he'd been thinking, since his mind had practically detached from his body as soon as he'd heard the police sirens. At first, it hadn't even occurred to him that Lance had run a red light. All he'd been able to think was that someone had recognized him, and that the police were coming to drag him back to the Castle of Lions. 

His worry had lessened a _little_ when he'd realized the actual reason they'd been pulled over ... but still. The police had probably been informed that he was missing, and they were all probably on the lookout for him. If the police officer recognized him or was even the slightest bit suspicious, Keith's cover would be blown. 

While Lance had gone over to speak with the officer, Keith had been sitting on the back of the vespa with his stomach in knots. He sat facing forward, his spine rigid, praying that Lance could talk their way out of this and that the policeman wouldn't even bother to look too closely in Keith's direction. 

His gaze kept flicking towards the reflection in the rearview mirror as he tried to gauge how the conversation was going, but it was impossible to tell. All he could see was Lance's enthusiastic hand gestures, and the occasional glimpse of the cop's stoic expression. 

Without even consciously meaning to, Keith had moved forward in the seat. The longer he waited, the more he could feel a nervous energy building inside him—an instinct telling him to leap up and run as far away from this situation as possible.

But he knew that running would only draw more attention to himself. Instead, he inched forward a bit more ...

Which was when a strange trance seemed to come over him. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but he found himself staring down at the handlebars of the vespa with a spark of intrigue at the back of his mind. He thought about the thrill he'd felt just now as he and Lance had ridden through the streets of Altea, how he'd never felt such a sense of freedom before. 

Almost without realizing it, he reached out one hand to touch one of the handlebars. His fingers brushed against it before he snatched them back as if they'd been burned. But even though he cautioned himself against it, he couldn't fight the urge that suddenly ran through his veins. Besides, he wasn't _really_ going to take off on this thing ... just put his hands on the handlebars and imagine what it would feel like. 

Slowly, he reached out to rest his hands on the handlebars. A thrill went through him at the sensation, almost like a shock of electricity. At the same time, his foot shifted forward and nudged against the gas pedal ...

Keith wasn't sure what happened right then. One second he was sitting on the vespa by the side of the road—and the next thing he knew, the engine growled to life and he was taking off down the street. He barely had time to register the sound of the police officer yelling an enraged " _Hey_!" and then the sound was already far behind him. 

There was a tremendous lurch in his stomach, like he'd jumped from the top of a building. Keith let out a yelp of surprise, grasping at the handles of the bike to prevent himself from flying backwards. Fortunately there weren't many cars on the street, or else he probably would've gotten into a horrible accident in a matter of seconds.

The vespa veered to the left, and Keith only managed to get the vehicle under control again just in time. He'd nearly driven headfirst into an oncoming car, whose driver honked at him and shouted something indiscernible out the window. Keith didn't have much time to pay attention, though, when his main focus was trying not to get himself killed. 

He had at least managed to slow down and to steer himself in a—mostly—straight line, although he was still weaving back and forth as he struggled to keep the small motorbike under control. Scenery flew by on either side of him—colorful storefronts, sidewalks crowded with tourists, food trucks, artists working at their canvases—and it was difficult not to get distracted by it all. 

The wind whipped through Keith's hair, and the loose strands kept fluttering into his eyes which made it even more challenging to concentrate. Somehow, though, he managed to keep his focus on the road and to not crash into anything. Strangely, now that he was getting the hang of it, it felt kind of ... exciting. Fun, even. 

" _Keith_!" 

He snapped out of it as he heard Lance's voice coming from down the street behind him. He caught a glimpse of one of the rearview mirrors and could see that Lance was literally running after him, waving his arms. 

Keith tried to slow down, but was momentarily sidetracked when he nearly ran into two women crossing the street with their arms draped with shopping bags. They both leapt back with cries of alarm, and Keith would have tried to call an apology over his shoulder but he was pretty sure they were already out of earshot. 

At least the momentary obstacle had given Lance some time to catch up. Out of the corner of his vision, Keith could see him running up behind the vespa, huffing for breath. 

"Keith, what are you doing?" he yelled. "You've gotta stop!"

"I can't!" Keith called over his shoulder. "I don't know how!" 

He heard Lance let out a groan of frustration, before he sprinted the rest of the small distance between himself and the vespa, and—oh, no. He wasn't going to do what Keith thought he was going to do ...

Well ... apparently, he was. Because before Keith could protest, Lance had taken a running leap and jumped onto the back of the motorbike. 

Keith would have expected such a maneuver to end in disaster—but by some miracle, Lance had managed to pull it off. The vespa swerved to one side as Keith's hands jerked in surprise, but he managed to steady the vehicle again and keep them going in a straight line.

Meanwhile, Lance let out a cry and threw his arms around Keith's waist. The unexpected physical contact caught Keith off-guard, but he somehow didn't lose focus. In fact, there was something about Lance's presence behind him that made him feel a bit more confident that he was getting ahold of steering this thing. 

Of course, almost as soon as the thought entered his mind, he heard Lance let out a horrified gasp. "Keith, look out!" 

Before Keith could even ask what he was referring to, he looked up and let out a small gasp of his own. Because right up ahead of them was a small outdoor café where numerous people were dining. Cursing under his breath, Keith scrambled to find the brakes with his feet—but although he managed to slow down, it was already too late for him to come to a complete halt. 

With the momentum he already had going, he knew that he wouldn't be able to avoid the crowd entirely. All he could do was grasp at the handlebars and try to aim the vespa between the tables as best as he could. 

As he went hurtling forward, he saw a few people look up with widening eyes. Some of them leapt to their feet to get out of the way, and cries of alarm pierced the air. Keith braced himself and maneuvered the vehicle through the maze of tables—and was surprised at how successfully he managed to do so, all things considered. He heard a few plates shatter to the ground in his wake, and an umbrella over one table went flying. But ... well, at least no one had gotten hurt. 

"Oh, my God," Lance said behind him. "I can't believe you just—oh, my God." 

Strangely, Keith didn't feel as terrified as he might have expected himself to. In fact, as they sped away from the chaos he'd left behind, an elated feeling had built up in his chest. He couldn't say where exactly the sentiment had come from, but he found himself _smiling_ as he raced down the road. A revitalizing sense of energy coursed through him, as the colorful atmosphere of the city rushed past him, as he felt the wind in his hair and Lance's arms wrapped around his waist. It took all his willpower not to let out a whoop of excitement. 

The feeling was snuffed out, though, when he heard the drone of a siren coming from behind them. 

Keith's smile vanished in an instant, and Lance cursed under his breath. 

"Shit—Keith, they're right behind us. You gotta pull over." 

Sure enough, when Keith glanced at the circular rearview mirror, he saw several cops pulling up behind them on motorbikes of their own, lights flashing in warning. Keith's hands shook as he gripped at the handlebars. He wanted nothing more than to speed away as fast as he possibly could—but he knew that probably wasn’t the best choice. 

Besides, as he looked up, he saw that they had come to a dead end. Having no other options, Keith started to slow down. 

His ears were ringing by the time he skidded a stop. As the cops pulled up on either side of them, Keith stared fiercely forward as his vision went hazy at the edges. 

So ... this was really it. He'd been caught, and there was no getting away with it. Worse than that, the police were probably going to recognize him immediately—which probably meant Lance was going to find out his true identity, was going to find out Keith had been lying to him, and ...

The train of thought tapered off as he felt Lance's grip loosen from around his waist. He had clambered off of the vespa, and now was reaching a hand out cordially towards Keith to help him to the ground—like they were on some kind of _date_ or something, and not surrounded by police. 

Keith took hold of Lance's hand anyway, carefully avoiding his gaze as his feet landed on the pavement. 

When he tried to pull away, though, Lance's fingers tightened around his like a vice. Their shoulders brushed as Lance leaned over to whisper, "Just go along with whatever I say, okay?" 

"Huh?" Keith said intelligently.

He didn't have time to question Lance further before one of the cops jumped down from his motorcycle and marched straight towards them. Keith went rigid on instinct, gripping Lance's hand back without even thinking about it. Lance stood up straight next to him, and Keith could hear him drawing in a long breath and letting it out again. 

Just then, the policeman came to a stop right in front of them. 

"Both of you," he said gruffly, "come with me. Now." 

  


* * *

  


The small police station felt unusually warm, and Lance loosened his tie as he looked around the cramped space. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows and glanced off the polished surface of the desk separating Lance and Keith from the police officer, who was glaring at them with his hands folded behind his back. 

They had already gotten quite the berating for their actions, in the form of a long rant that had included phrases such as "reckless behavior" and "disturbing the peace," but Lance had only half-listened. 

As the officer had gone on his tirade, Lance had been more focused on Keith standing close by his side—Keith, who kept his head bowed and didn't say a single word or move a muscle. Lance could practically feel the panic radiating off of him, and he had a feeling he knew exactly what was going through Keith's head: if the policeman recognized who Keith was, then it was all over.

Which meant Keith would be taken away. Oh, and Lance's plan to write the article would be ruined, and he could say goodbye to his career.

But right now, he wasn't thinking of much else besides how on earth he was going to get them out of this situation. In a way, he was almost grateful that the officer's lecture had dragged out so long, because at least it gave him time to think up a good excuse. 

"Well?" the policeman barked, as he finally finished chewing them out. His face had gone a bit red with anger, and his eyes narrowed as he looked between Lance and Keith expectantly. "Anything you have to say for yourselves?"

Lance snuck another glance in Keith's direction, although he wasn't expecting Keith to do any of the talking—he had promised to do it himself, after all. Also, the last thing they needed was Keith drawing attention to himself. 

The next few seconds passed at an agonizing pace, as Lance studied Keith's profile—the way a few strands of his dark hair were obscuring one of his eyes, the reddening tip of his ear.

An idea occurred to him—a risky one, and one that Keith might kill him for directly after. But maybe ... _maybe_ it would work. 

He took a deep breath, then reached out and grabbed Keith by the hand. 

Keith tensed at the sudden contact, looking up at Lance with a questioning expression. There was a panicked look in his eyes, an unspoken question of _"What the hell are you doing?"_ Although Lance's face was starting to grow warm, he refused to break Keith's gaze. He squeezed Keith's fingers as if to answer his silent question with a plea for Keith to trust him. 

"Well, officer ..." Lance lifted Keith's hand, so that he could lay his other hand gently over it. He hadn't looked away from Keith yet, shifting his expression to one that he hoped would pass as soft and affectionate. It seemed to be working, judging by the way Keith's face started to go bright red. "We didn't want to cause a scene out there or anything, but the truth is we're ... we're eloping." 

The room went dead silent, and it took all of Lance's willpower not to wince after stating the words. _Just keep going with it_ , he urged himself. At the same time, he kept grasping Keith's hand in both of his and prayed that Keith would be willing to play along. 

He was a little worried when Keith's expression remained completely stunned, his eyes flying wide. But after a moment he seemed to gather himself, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

"Eloping?" The officer scoffed. "Is that so?"

For a second, Lance had almost forgotten he was there, but now he turned to face the policeman with an apologetic smile. “That's right, sir," he said. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's true.” 

He pulled one of his hands away from Keith's, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "I guess we ... we got a little too excited trying to get to the church. And my boyfriend here—ah sorry, my _fiancé_ —doesn't have much experience riding a vespa, but we thought it'd be the fastest way to get there and ... I know, it wasn't the most responsible choice. But like I said, we got a bit too excited."

He brought his nervous rambling to a stop, knowing that he would probably only make it worse if he kept going. Hell, he was surprised he had even made it this far without the officer seeing right through his bullshit. 

But by some miracle, although he kept his arms crossed and his face set in a stoic frown, the police officer seemed to actually be thinking it over. He looked between Keith and Lance's faces, then down to their linked hands, and raised an eyebrow. 

"No rings or anything?" 

Lance had been anticipating the question, so he had already prepared the embarrassed smile he returned in response. "No, sir. This was much too spontaneous for that. We thought about waiting 'til we could actually get some rings, but ... we just couldn't wait that long." 

He turned towards Keith again, another soft smile rising to his face. This time, it felt even more effortless than it had before. 

"I wasn't planning on proposing today, but then ... there was something about being in the city where we first met, even doing the most normal things—eating lunch, going to the museum ... heck, even just walking down the street together—made me realize there's no one else I'd rather be doing all those things with. And I could do those same things every single day with him for the rest of my life, and I would never get tired of it." 

The speech tumbled out of him with surprising ease, and he came to a stop when he realized how much he had said at once. He was maybe laying it on a little thick, but the words had somehow felt so natural. Maybe he was better at acting than he'd initially given himself credit for. 

And ... okay, apparently Keith wasn't bad at acting either, because the starry look in his eyes and the breathless laugh he let out in response were very convincing.

The police officer cleared his throat. Startled, Lance turned around again. He kept a firm grip on Keith's hand, tugging him closer so that their shoulders almost bumped together. 

"I know it's not an excuse for acting irresponsibly," he went on, "but—" 

The officer held up a hand to stop him, his gaze flitting between Keith and Lance once again. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Lance could've sworn he looked a little less skeptical this time. 

After a pause that felt about an eternity long, the officer pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Fine. Since—luckily for you—no one was hurt, I'll let you off with a warning." 

Lance's jaw nearly dropped. Had their act really been _that_ convincing? Had it been so overly dramatic that the policeman couldn't even stand to listen to them anymore? Either way, Lance couldn’t believe their luck.

He somehow managed to maintain his composure, giving a slight bow of his head. "Thank you, sir. We—" 

" _But_ ," the officer cut him off, "you're walking the rest of the way to the church. Understood?" 

Keith and Lance both stood up straight and nodded. 

"We promise," Lance said. 

"Good." The officer waved towards the door. "Now, be on your way before I change my mind. And, uh, congratulations." 

It still felt like there was supposed to be some kind of catch to all this—but when there didn't seem to be one, Lance decided not to question it. He repeatedly thanked the officer as they started to make their way towards the door, and even Keith managed a muttered thank-you before they made their exit. 

Almost as soon as they stepped outside and were out of earshot, Lance could no longer hold back the breathless laugh that escaped from him. 

"What's so funny?" Keith asked. 

"Nothing, nothing. I just can't believe that _worked_." 

Now that he'd started laughing he couldn't seem to stop. Keith kept looking at him like he was crazy, but then his mouth turned up at the corner and he let out an amused huff. "Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his neck and looking away. "Neither can I." 

Lance had managed to pull himself together again, although he still couldn't seem to wipe the giddy smile off his face. But as he kept looking at Keith, his grin started to fade. Keith's face still looked a little red, and there was a sudden hollow look in his eyes as he gazed off across the street. 

Now that he was coming down from the high of getting away, it started to hit Lance what a close call they'd just had. If any of the police had recognized Keith, it would've all been over—and who knows what kind of trouble that could've put both of them in. 

But it also seemed strange that there was a runaway prince on the loose and the police hadn't even seemed to notice. Unless the police didn’t actually know that Keith had escaped, but ...

"Lance! Keith!" 

Lance was startled out of his train of thought, and turned around to see Hunk sprinting down the street towards them. He came to a stop in front of them, catching his breath. 

"Oh, my gosh. You guys are okay!" He threw his arms around both of them and squeezed so tightly that they both wheezed. Hunk stepped back again, looking them over as if searching for injury. "I totally lost track of you when I was following you in my car, and then when I finally caught up I saw you getting taken into the _police station_ , and I just thought ..." 

He trailed off as he looked down and noticed something that seemed to catch his attention. When Lance followed his gaze, it was then that he realized he and Keith were still holding hands. 

Lance immediately released Keith's hand as if it had burned him, letting out a nervous chuckle. Hunk stared at him with a questioning look, which Lance returned with a meaningful look of his own that he hoped conveyed something along the lines of _I'll explain later_. 

"Sorry we made you worry, buddy," he said, reaching out to clap a hand on Hunk's shoulder. "But don't worry, we're fine. Keith just ... took an unexpected joyride on the vespa, that’s all." 

Hunk's eyes widened as he turned towards Keith. "You _what_?"

"Uhh ..." Keith's shoulders hunched. "It was a mistake ... ?" 

"Oh, man," said Hunk, slapping a hand to his forehead. "I can't believe I missed that. How'd you guys talk your way outta that one?" 

Keith and Lance exchanged a panicked look, but Lance quickly recovered and forced a smile. 

"Oh, you know me. I can talk my way out of anything," he said. "Just convinced 'em it was just a little mishap. Plus, no one got hurt, so they let us off with a warning." 

Hunk frowned and made a thoughtful " _hmm_ " noise. Knowing him, Lance could tell he suspected they were holding something back. 

But before he could press further with any other questions, Lance continued, "Anyway ... we should return the vespa to the rental place, and then keep exploring while we've still got some sunlight." 

He looked up at the late afternoon sky as he said it, noticing that the sun was starting to inch towards the horizon, and a sudden unexpected sense of melancholy came over him. He'd been so caught up in the whirlwind of events in the past few hours, it had barely occurred to him that they were running out of time. Before long, they would need to part ways, to go back to their normal lives—where Keith would go back to being a prince, and Lance would go back to being a journalist. 

Of course, he had known from the start that this would only last for a limited period of time. He just hadn't expected it to go by so quickly, and for Keith to be so fun to be around, and that every time Keith smiled it would do something really weird to his heart, and—whoa, he had lost control of that train of thought pretty quickly. What was he _thinking_? 

"Uh, Lance?" 

He hadn't realized how long he'd been spacing out before Hunk waved a hand in front of his face. As Lance blinked a few times and looked at him, he saw his friend frowning back at him in concern. "You okay, man?" 

"Huh? Yeah, yeah. I was just thinking," Lance stammered, then smiled again as he looked back up at the sky. "I know exactly where we should go next."

  


* * *

  


Ever since they'd stepped out of the police station, Keith had felt a bit like he was walking through a dream. Everything felt hazy and surreal—although, honestly, it had felt that way all day. But it seemed to have multiplied tenfold. 

He was still in shock that they'd managed to escape with only a warning, but even more so that the police officer hadn't recognized him. Did he really look _that_ different when he was dressed like a normal civilian? 

Or ... did the police not know he was missing? Was King Alfor trying to cover up his disappearance from the Castle of Lions? Or maybe there was some other, more secret operation in place to track him down … 

The thought made him feel sick to his stomach. If there really were some kind of secret agents trying to find him, he hated the thought of involving Lance and Hunk in the possible mess.

But even though he kept trying to think up excuses to leave, a small voice at the back of his head always protested in response. _Just a little bit longer_. A little longer to explore the city freely, in a way he probably would never have the opportunity to do again. A little longer to forget the heavy burden of his royal duties, to cast aside his title and his responsibilities. 

A little longer to be with _him_.

The last thought echoed in his mind as he walked alongside Lance, down a winding path through the Public Altean Gardens. They had walked here shortly after returning the vespa, and were now wandering aimlessly between the tall hedges and arrays of flowers. The late afternoon light was beginning to develop a hint of gold, and it cast an ethereal glow over the scenery. 

Despite all the splendor around them, Keith kept finding his attention drawn to Lance. He tried to be subtle about it, only sneaking glimpses when Lance was looking elsewhere or was busy explaining something enthusiastically—but with the increasing frequency of his glances, it was getting harder to not get caught staring. 

Maybe it was simply that the light was particularly flattering—that it made the angles of Lance's profile more striking, that it glinted in his dark eyes. But Keith had a suspicion that it was more than that, and the thought scared him a little. 

He had noticed from the start that Lance was handsome, of course. It was kind of hard _not_ to notice. What he hadn't expected, though, was that Lance would be so kind to him—that he would take all this time out of his day to show Keith around the city, that he would be so charming and eager to share all of his favorite places and all of his knowledge about Altea. 

And then there was everything that had happened at the police station—how Lance had taken hold of his hand and held it so reassuringly, how he'd worn such a fond expression on his face as he'd spun that tale about them being _engaged_.

Even thinking of it now made Keith's face absurdly warm. Because, well, Lance's acting had been so convincing that Keith had almost forgotten it was a coverup. In the moment, he'd allowed himself to believe it—to more easily get into the role, of course—and it still felt like it hadn't quite worn off. 

It didn't help that they were now strolling through the beautiful public gardens, where dozens of couples were walking hand-in-hand. Keith knew it was probably a bad idea to start dwelling in ridiculous fantasies, but what with their surroundings he couldn’t help but let his mind wander off—to imagine that the two of them were just two normal people who had met under normal circumstances … 

“Keith?”

He came to a halt, both physically and mentally, stopping in the middle of the path. He realized then that Lance was staring at him, tilting his head.

Keith panicked. Had Lance asked him something while he was spacing out? “Yeah?” 

Lance just frowned, like he had been about to say something but had thought better of it at the last second. “Nothing. You just looked kinda …” He waved a hand vaguely, then didn’t seem to know what word to choose. “Never mind. There’s something I wanted to show you. C’mon, this way!” 

Without wasting another moment, he grabbed Keith by the wrist and dragged him to their right, down another narrow path. 

As the scenery passed on either side, Keith took a moment to observe their surroundings. The gardens really were like something out of a fairytale, with their winding cobblestone paths and tall hedges, with beautiful arrangements of flowers in all directions. 

Keith noticed there were a lot of magenta juniberries like the ones Allura had shown him the night before outside the Castle of Lions, or the ones Lance had pointed out earlier by the side of the street. Along the sides of the pathways were other decorations as well, such as bubbling fountains and tall statues of historical Altean figures.

Lance didn’t seem to notice any of it, too focused on a particular destination. Finally, he dragged Keith off the pathway towards a stone wall on their left. 

From a distance, Keith has seen there was a small alcove in the wall, but it wasn’t until they were up close that he could see that there was a shape carved into the stone inside the alcove. As they drew closer, Keith could see it was a crude outline of a face—rather monstrous in appearance, with large angry eyes and a gaping hole in place of a mouth. 

“Here it is!” Lance said, sweeping an arm out to indicate the strange face in the wall. “The Mouth of Truth.”

Keith blinked. “The what?” 

“The Mouth of Truth!” Lance said again with more emphasis, like he expected Keith should know what he was talking about. “It’s like, a super famous Altean landmark. They say that if you stick your hand in its mouth and tell a lie, it’ll bite your hand off.” 

He shot Keith a devilish grin, which caused an unexpected swooping sensation in Keith’s stomach. 

But Keith gathered his composure again quickly. “Do you really believe that?” 

"Guess there's only one way to find out." Lance gestured towards the dark hole in the wall. "You first." 

"What? Why do I have to go first?"

"Why, are you scared?" 

" _No_."

"Then just do it!"

"Fine, fine."

Keith rolled his eyes but was still smirking as he took a step forward. For some reason, though, he felt anxious as he drew closer to the large stone face in the wall. It wasn't that he was actually _afraid_ of it, and he knew the thing couldn't actually hurt him. Yet, his smile faded and a prickling sensation raced up his spine as he lifted a hand and started to slide it into the hole in the wall. 

He knew the stone face wasn't alive, yet he couldn't shake away the feeling that its eyes were watching him. He could feel Lance's gaze on him at the same time, and that was even more nerve-wracking. 

The interior of the stone mouth felt cold and a bit damp. It probably wasn’t too deep, but Keith had an uneasy sensation that he was reaching into an endless void, and that he didn't know what was lurking inside it. 

After holding his hand there for a couple of seconds, he snatched it back again. "There," he said. "Now, let's see _you_ do it." 

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I'll do it." 

He took a couple of strides forward, approaching the Mouth of Truth with much more confidence than Keith had demonstrated. His posture remained relaxed and casual, and he wore an almost bored expression as he inserted a hand into the dark hole. 

Nothing happened, of course, except for Lance standing there with his hand stuck in the gaping stone mouth. He seemed to be making a point of keeping it there longer than Keith had, tapping his foot like he was waiting for something to happen—but still, nothing. 

"Well, there you have it. Nothing to worry about," he said with a sigh. "I guess it was just a— _AAH_!"

His sentence was cut off as he cried out sharply, body lurching forward and hand diving deeper into the hole as if pulled from the inside. 

Keith exclaimed in fear at the same time, reaching out on instinct to grab Lance by the elbow and pull his arm free from the Mouth of Truth. "Lance! Are you—" 

He didn't get the whole question out. For a perplexing moment, as he looked down, it appeared that Lance's hand really _was_ missing. But then Keith realized Lance was just hiding it inside his jacket sleeve. 

Lance popped his hand free again and grinned. "Fooled ya." 

Bewildered, Keith looked from Lance's face to his outstretched hand and then back again, before he finally wheezed out a laugh. "Oh, my God. You're the _worst_ ," he blurted, giving Lance a playful punch on the arm. 

Lance burst out laughing in response. "Holy shit, that was amazing. You should've seen the look on your face." 

"Shut up," Keith shot back, although there was little fire to it. His face burned, but it was hard not to join in on Lance's contagious laughter. "I really thought you hurt yourself or—"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Lance managed between peals of giggles. But he didn't seem sorry at all, judging by the way he ended up cracking up again. 

The sight of him so amused made Keith break out in equal mirth. He probably should have been annoyed, but the thought was drowned out by an elated sense of amusement. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard, so much that his shoulders shook with it and his ribs ached. 

It was so easy to get caught up in it, in fact, that he hardly noticed when Lance reached out to grasp him by the upper arms as if holding onto him for support. They were both still laughing—although by now they were starting to calm down, both struggling to catch their breath. 

Someone behind them cleared their throat. 

The momentary spell was shattered and Keith was suddenly hyper-aware of how close he and Lance were standing, Lance still holding him by the shoulders and Keith's fingers still buried in his sleeve. 

They sprang apart, hands dropping to their sides, both turning around at once—to find that it was Hunk standing there, looking between them with an eyebrow raised. 

"Hey, guys. What's so funny?" 

"Oh—nothing, nothing," Lance stammered, then chuckled one more time as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Just played a little trick on Keith, that's all. Anyway, uh ..." He cleared his throat and gestured towards the camera hanging around Hunk's neck. "Did you get some good pictures of the garden?" 

Hunk's eyes had narrowed, but they brightened again at the question. "Oh, yeah. The lighting at this time of day is just perfect," he said, taking the camera between his hands and fiddling with it. "Got some nice shots. But yeah, I just wanted to check in on you guys and see what your plans were. Did you want to stay a bit longer?" 

Keith looked over at Lance, to find Lance was already staring expectantly back at him—as if each was expecting the other to respond. There was a tight feeling in Keith's chest as he held back the answer that rushed to the forefront of his mind: _yes_ , he wanted to stay longer. He wanted to stay for hours, until it was dark, until the stars came out ... just wandering the pathways, surrounded by the peaceful atmosphere of the gardens, with nowhere else to go and nothing to do.

"Well," Lance said at last, when he seemed to sense that Keith wasn't going to answer, "if Keith doesn't want to stick around, we don't have to. But before we go, he should at least see the wall."

"Oh, you mean he hasn't seen it yet?" Hunk said.

Blinking out of his daze, Keith frowned in bewilderment. "The wall?" he repeated, glancing at the wall standing right next to them. 

"Not this one," said Lance. "The one where—well, you'll see. Come on!" 

Without giving any further explanation, he grabbed Keith by the wrist again and started pulling him away. Keith had no choice but to follow, wondering what on earth was so interesting about a wall that both Lance and Hunk seemed so thrilled about it. Nevertheless, he was intrigued. 

As they passed through the garden again, past marble statues and colorful flower arrangements, Keith kept looking left and right in search of their destination. He didn't know what exactly to look out for or what to expect—but as soon as they turned another corner and were faced with the landmark in question, he immediately knew it was what Lance had been referring to. 

Before them was a long wall that stretched out almost as far as the eye could see on either side. But the remarkable thing about it wasn't its length, but that it was decorated with hundreds of shining plaques inscribed with small lettering. They weren't close enough yet for Keith to read what they all said, but his breath still caught at the impressive sight. 

As they approached it, a sense of reverence came over him. There seemed to be an atmosphere of peace surrounding the whole area, something somber and calming. Along the stretch of the wall, there were people here and there reading the inscriptions in silence, some even kneeling and praying. 

When they were only a few feet away, Lance came to a stop and released Keith's wrist. He didn't say anything, as if he were waiting for Keith to speak first. 

"These inscriptions ..." Keith said as he took another careful step forward. "What are they?" 

Lance stepped up beside him, so close that their shoulders almost brushed. He tilted his head up to get a better look of all the plaques mounted on the wall. 

"Each one of them represents a wish that came true," he explained. "Back during the war, a man and his four kids took shelter here during a raid and prayed for safety—and then luckily, they all survived. Later on, they came back and put up the first of these plaques." 

He gestured to the wide array of inscriptions on the wall in front of them. 

"Since then, it's become a tradition. People come here to make a wish, and if it comes true then they add another inscription."

Keith had been totally silent as he listened to Lance's explanation, never looking away from the words written on the tiles. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the sight, by all the touching messages written to commemorate hopes that had become realities, the dates spanning many decades—wishes for health, for happy marriages, for loved ones to return from war.

Just knowing that so many people had wished for these things—things that may have seemed impossible to them at the time—and that they had all came true, sparked a warm sense of hope that made his eyes sting. 

"So," Lance said, giving Keith a light nudge in the arm with his elbow. "Want to make a wish?" 

Broken out of his daze, Keith looked up. He had thought maybe Lance was joking—but when their gazes met, he saw only a glimmering sincerity in Lance's eyes. The golden light of the setting sun cast him in an ethereal glow, in a way that made Keith feel oddly dazed, as if he wasn't sure whether or not he was dreaming. 

"Yeah," he said. "I do." 

He turned to face the wall again, to face the countless plaques bearing hundreds of strangers' hopes and dreams. He felt nervous, in a way he couldn't readily explain, as if he'd been tasked with an important mission. 

He let his eyes drift shut. 

Keith couldn't remember the last time he had done something like this—probably not since he was a little kid, blowing out birthday candles or watching the sky for shooting stars. 

He’d reached a certain age, at some point, where he didn’t believe in such things anymore. But something about the wall in front of him, and the presence of all the people there making their own wishes, and the dreamlike atmosphere of this entire day … It all seemed to combine in a way that made anything seem possible. 

The only question was what he actually wanted to wish for. The rational part of himself remembered that he was a prince, and it was his duty to wish for something like world peace, for every country to settle their disputes, or anything along those lines. But no matter how he tried to choose, nothing felt quite right. It felt too big, too impossible. He thought maybe it was better to wish for something small ... something more plausible, even if the likelihood of it happening was slim. 

At least, he could have this moment to wish for something for himself. Not for himself as a prince, but himself as a person. 

And he had a nagging feeling, at the back of his mind, that he knew what he wanted to wish for. 

He latched onto the thought and brought it forward, focused on it for several lingering moments, and then released it into the universe. 

When he blinked his eyes open, he felt like he'd woken up from a deep sleep. The glowing light seemed brighter than it had before, the scenery around him more colorful. 

"Did you wish for something?" 

The question startled Keith back to reality, and he found that Lance was watching him with a patient smile. He wondered how long Lance had been standing there waiting—and that, combined with his wish still fresh in his mind, made his face feel warm. 

Keith nodded, looking away again. "I don't think it'll come true, though." He hadn't quite meant to say it out loud, but it was too late to take it back now. 

Fortunately, Lance didn't seem to judge him for it. When Keith turned to look at him again, Lance was reading some of the inscriptions on the wall with a wistful expression on his face.

"It’s okay," he said. "Mine probably won't either."

The words caught Keith off-guard. He hadn't even known that Lance was also making a wish. There was such a distant expression in his eyes now that it made Keith wonder what he had wished for. 

He of course wasn’t going to pry—but before he could say anything in response at all, Hunk stepped up behind them. 

“Hey, guys. It’s starting to get kinda late, huh?”

He looked at Lance pointedly as he said it, as if there was some hidden meaning behind the words that Keith couldn’t decipher. 

Whatever it was, it made Lance frown. “There’s still a couple hours of the day left,” he said, before looking over at Keith. “That is, if Keith wants to stick around a little longer.” 

There was a hopeful note to it that made Keith’s heart skip—although he knew Lance was probably just trying to be polite. 

He glanced between Hunk and Lance like he was waiting for one of them to give him some kind of hint. When they didn’t, he answered, “Oh, I … yeah. I can stick around.” 

He tried to make it sound as casual as possible, ignoring the voice at the back of his head reminding him that the later he stayed the more trouble he was going to be in. But at this point the damage was already done, and he figured he should still enjoy this precious free time while he had the chance. 

“Cool!” Hunk said brightly. “Any ideas of where we should go next?” 

“Hmm … I think we’ve covered pretty much everything on my list,” Lance said. “Besides, it’s Keith’s day. He should be the one to decide.” 

There was something about that choice of words that made Keith feel a little flustered, especially with Lance and Hunk both looking at him expectantly. But after a brief hesitation, he suddenly remembered something. 

"What about that party down by the docks?" he said. "You know, that one your friend invited us to."

Lance blinked like he had no idea what Keith was talking about. "My ... ? Oh, you mean that thing Matt told us about?" 

There was a subtle shift in Lance's expression as he spoke, his smile faltering and the words sounding a little choked. Although it was barely noticeable, it was enough to make Keith suddenly feel self-conscious, like he'd unknowingly said something offensive. 

"We don't have to if you don't want to," he said quickly. "It was just an idea." 

"No, no—it's cool. It sounds cool," Lance stammered. He smiled again, although it looked somewhat forced this time. "If that's where you want to go, we should go." 

"Are you sure?" Keith asked, still suspicious that Lance had some hidden objection to them going. 

"Yeah! I think it'll be fun." Lance gave Hunk a firm pat on the shoulder. "Right, Hunk?" 

"Uh ... yeah, I'm down to go," Hunk said. There was a slight note of hesitation to it, but then his expression seemed to brighten the more he considered it. "Bet I can get some good photos. And maybe I’ll text Shay and ask if she wants to come." 

"Yeah, exactly!" Lance said with a grin. "Sounds like the perfect way to end our day, huh?" 

The word _end_ immediately wiped the faint smile from Keith's face. He had known, of course, that this day couldn't last forever. But that hadn't stopped him from dwelling in the hazy fantasy of it for the past few hours, unable to accept the harsh reality that at some point he would have to return from where he'd come from ... and face whatever repercussions were awaiting him there. 

"Yeah," he sighed. "Guess after that, I should probably head back."

His gaze drifted downwards as he spoke, fixing on the ground. 

There was a short pause before Lance broke the silence. "Hey, the day's not over yet! We've still got some time left, so let's make it count." 

He said it with such genuine enthusiasm that Keith couldn't help but feel a little better as he looked back up again. He found that Lance was smiling at him with sincere excitement, and it was enough to quell Keith's worries ... at least for the time being. 

"Well, then. What are we waiting for?" Hunk said, putting one hand on Lance's shoulder and the other on Keith's. "We should get going, huh? We can take my car."

"Sounds good," Lance said, and Keith nodded in agreement. 

Hunk and Lance discussed the plan a little further, arguing about the fastest way to get to their destination, but Keith was only half-listening. He was distracted by the wall looming over them, and still thinking about the wish he'd made. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like an invisible hand was squeezing around his heart—but he knew there was no point in dwelling on it, especially when there was no chance of it ever coming true. 

"Keith?" 

He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed until now that Lance and Hunk had already walked a few paces away, back in the direction of Hunk's car. Lance had paused, turning around to look at Keith questioningly. 

Keith's face heated up as he banished all lingering thoughts of the wish from his mind. "Oh, sorry. I'm coming." 

He gave one last look at the wall, as if he could absorb all the messages written onto it. Then he turned around to follow Hunk and Lance, burying his hope into some far corner of his heart where hopefully no one would ever find it. 

— 

By now, the sun was dipping towards the horizon and the evening sky was painted with strokes of rosy pink. 

Lance could feel the seconds ticking away as they drove down the winding roads that led to the docks. He tried to preoccupy himself with staring out the passenger window, but his leg kept bouncing up and down impatiently and he was acutely aware of the nervous glances Hunk kept shooting towards him. 

Even though Hunk hadn't said anything, Lance could practically hear his anxious inner chatter—that they had dragged this out for too long, that Lance still hadn't properly interviewed Keith yet, and they only had a couple more hours before they parted ways. 

At the thought, Lance's attention was instinctively drawn to the rearview mirror right above him, where he could see the reflection of Keith sitting in the backseat. He was gazing out the window, taking in the scenery of all the old buildings and people passing by.

Lance thought back to when they'd stood at the wall together, as he'd watched Keith stand there as he closed his eyes and made a wish—his dark lashes contrasting against the paleness of his skin, the small furrow of concentration in his brow. 

Lance hadn't planned to make a wish of his own ... but in that moment, he had. It had leapt to his mind almost involuntarily, seizing him like an invisible hand wrapped around his throat. Before he even knew what he was doing he had found himself wishing—hopelessly, selfishly—for something he knew would never come true. Not in a million years.

Maybe that's what wishes were for, to indulge in some fantasy that had very little chance of happening. Even so, thinking about it now made him feel sick with guilt. With every passing minute, he felt more and more terrible for taking advantage of Keith and knowing that delaying the inevitable moment of truth would only make it more painful. 

And yet, he had still wished for ... _that_. 

"Ooh, that must be it over there," Hunk said right then, disrupting Lance's train of thought.

Following Hunk's line of vision, Lance looked up through the windshield. Not too far down the road from them was the docks overlooking the canal. There was a barge docked there, decorated with string lights and paper lanterns. 

They were still a short distance away, but Lance could see groups of people gathered on the docks or dancing on the deck of the boat. His skin prickled at the thought of bringing Keith into such a crowded place—but then again, they'd been all over the city all day and hadn't managed to get caught yet. Besides, it's not like he could show much trepidation about it without blowing his cover. 

There was something else, though, that bothered him about this whole scenario—which was that Matt had invited them there, and Keith had remembered it and wanted to go and ... well, Matt had seemed very _interested_ in Keith earlier. Not that it mattered or that Lance should care at all. Yet, he couldn't get rid of this unpleasant feeling, like something hard was lodged in his throat. 

He tried to put away the thought for now, though, as Hunk found them a parking spot in a nearby alleyway. As he'd said before, this was Keith's day. If going to this boat party was what he wanted to do, Lance wasn't going to stop him from doing it. 

"Alright, here we are!" Lance climbed out of the car and opened the back door so Keith could get out. 

Keith stepped outside, not saying anything as he gazed down the road at the barge glimmering with lights. Lance couldn't quite read the expression on his face, but it seemed to be shifting somewhere between intrigue and hesitation. 

"Something wrong?" 

Keith shook his head. "No. I just ... I've never seen anything quite like it before." 

If Keith had said something similar only a few hours earlier, Lance might have felt the urge to hold back a scoff. After all, Keith had undoubtedly been to countless extravagant events in his life. But having gotten to know him at least a little bit by now, and seeing the sincere look of excitement on his face, Lance could tell he'd meant what he said. Something about that made it even more difficult to disentangle this complicated knot of feelings. 

Behind them, Hunk was rummaging around for something in the back of his car, and let out a small "ah-ha!" once he'd found it. "Just getting out my better camera," he explained as he closed the trunk and turned around. He now had a slightly bigger camera hanging around his neck, and was already fiddling with some of the settings on it. "You guys ready to go?" 

"Yeah, I ..." Lance's voice came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat. "I'm good. Shall we?" 

Neither of his companions seemed to have any protests, so they started to walk down the street in the direction of the party. 

By now, the sun was starting to disappear beyond the horizon, hiding behind the rooftops of the city. The sky was darkening, but there was still enough light to reflect off the surface of the water in shimmering patterns. In the middle of it all, the barge was like a beacon in the falling darkness—a hazy glow of light, accompanied by the sounds of chatter and music. 

Now that they were closer, Lance could see that there was a small band of musicians at the far end of the barge, playing their instruments as people danced along on the deck of the boat. 

They soon reached the dock, where there was a small booth set up. After Lance had paid for their tickets, they started to weave their way through the crowd. No one seemed to pay them much attention, all of them preoccupied with chattering and drinking in small clusters along the dock.

As they made their way across the short walkway onto the boat, Lance turned to gauge Keith’s reaction—and the awestruck look on Keith’s face was enough to almost stop Lance in his tracks. The soft hues of twilight combined with the glow of the lanterns reflected in his eyes made him look unfairly ... _angelic_. But Lance tore his gaze away and mentally shook himself, remembering that he was supposed to be doing all this for a specific purpose and he couldn’t lose focus—especially when these unbidden feelings had no chance of ever going anywhere. 

They stepped onto the deck of the barge, which was a bustle of noise and movement. The band was playing an upbeat, jazzy tune that seemed to fill the air with energy, and couples danced and swayed under the starry lights. Other partygoers were standing around the perimeters of the deck or lining up at the small bar to the left. 

Lance allowed Keith to take the lead, unsure of what exactly he wanted to do. For the time being, he seemed content to stand at the edge of the crowd and people-watch, mesmerized by the sight. "Hey," Hunk said, walking up behind them. "I got a text from Shay that she just got here, so I'm gonna go try and find her. I'll come back here and meet you guys in a bit, okay?" 

"Yeah, sure. We'll be ..." Lance gestured at the scene around them. "Around." 

"Cool. Try to not get into too much trouble while I'm gone," Hunk said with a wink, then promptly turned around and walked away. 

Keith scoffed. "What did he mean by that?" 

"No idea," Lance answered truthfully, frowning as he watched his friend disappear into the crowd. As soon as Hunk was out of sight, he turned around and faced Keith again. "So, anything in particular you wanted to do? I could get us some drinks or ..."

Keith leaned back against the railing behind them. "I'm okay for now."

He looked over the display in front of them thoughtfully, as if he was trying to commit every single detail to memory. A light breeze drifted through the air and blew some dark strands of hair across his face, and Lance tamped down the urge to reach out and brush them aside. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing next to Keith. 

A short silence fell over them, although somehow it didn't feel awkward—especially with all of the light and the noise happening around them, it was easy to get absorbed in it for a minute.

Then, out of the corner of his vision, Lance noticed that Keith was looking at him. Their eyes met as Lance turned again, and his heart did a strange flip when he saw the unexpected intensity in Keith's eyes—something steady, calculating, like he was trying to read Lance's thoughts. 

"What is it?" Lance asked, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. 

Keith didn't answer right away, but his expression softened somewhat and the posture of his shoulders relaxed. "Nothing, it's just ..." He ran a hand through his hair as he searched for words. "You spent the entire day with me." 

Keith stated the fact with a note of hesitation, like he couldn't quite believe it was true. And even though he didn't say it out loud, there was an unspoken _"Why?"_ that Lance knew was hiding underneath it. 

"Well ... yeah," Lance said. "It's like I told you earlier. It just seemed like you needed it—to get out more and explore Altea, you know? And I figured I was the best guy to show you around, 'cause I know this city like the back of my hand."

He tried to sound nonchalant about the whole thing, but he had a feeling Keith could see right through him. 

"Well ... thanks," Keith said, a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth. "For showing me around and everything. It's probably one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me." 

Those words felt like a sledgehammer to the chest, and the heavy blow of guilt was so much that it practically made Lance sway on his feet. He couldn't bring himself to say anything in response—and the distress must have shown on his face, judging by the way Keith's smile fell. 

"Lance?" 

"Yeah?" He tried to gather his composure, although it was probably too late by now. 

"Nothing, you just looked ... I don't know."

Lance hesitated, rubbing at the back of his neck as his gaze dropped to the deck of the boat underneath them. His pulse pounded in his ears as he scrambled for something to say.

"Keith," he said at last, letting out a heavy sigh. He suddenly felt like he was standing on the edge of a steep precipice, about to drop a hundred feet to the ground. "Listen, there's something I should—"

"Oh, hey! You guys made it!" 

The familiar voice startled Lance into looking up, his words cutting off. It didn't take him long to find the source, as he saw Matt approaching them and waving. 

Lance wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or annoyed, but at least he had been saved from admitting the painful truth to Keith ... for now. Despite feeling a little shaken, Lance forced a smile and stood up straight. "Hey, man. What's up?" 

"Not much." Matt held out a fist and Lance bumped his own against it. "What've you guys been up to all day?" 

Lance exchanged a look with Keith, who was wearing a dazed expression, like he didn't quite know what was going on. "Oh ... you know," Lance said with a shrug. "I was just showing Keith around mostly, since he'd never been to the city." 

"Cool," said Matt. He shot a lopsided smile in Keith's direction. "Any favorite parts?"

Keith stiffened at the sudden attention. "Oh, uh ... a lot of things. The museum and the gardens and everything ... it was all really amazing." 

"That's awesome! Sounds like you had a good time." 

Matt kept staring at Keith as he spoke, still with that smile on his face, in a way that made Lance feel a strange prickling feeling under his skin. Which was stupid, of course, because it wasn't like Matt wasn't allowed to look at Keith. But he still found himself unwittingly crossing his arms. 

"Yeah, it was—it was great," Keith stammered. 

Matt took a second to answer, shifting from one foot to the other. "Do you ... think you'll be visiting here more often?" 

The question seemed to catch Keith off-guard, and he looked off to the side as he scratched at his ear. "Oh ... I don't know. I would like to, but I'm not sure it'd be anytime soon. I'm really busy with, y'know, school." 

Although Lance knew he was just putting on an act, he still felt a tiny spark of hope at what Keith had said about coming back someday. It was snuffed out almost instantly, though, when he reminded himself that if Keith ever came back here it wasn't like they were ever going to hang out like they had today.

"Makes sense," Matt said, breaking Lance out of his thoughts. "But hey, if you're ever around, it'd be ... uh ... It'd be cool to see you again." 

The way he stumbled awkwardly over the words, and with the obvious blush rising to his face ... Lance could tell what Matt was getting at, and it made that uncomfortable feeling squirm in his gut again. He could feel himself frowning, and composed his expression as quickly as he could. At the same time, he instinctively glanced at Keith to gauge his reaction—and the unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach only grew worse when he saw that Keith's face looked slightly red, too. 

"Uh ... yeah," Keith said. "That'd be ... yeah." 

A short silence fell over them, but it felt agonizingly long. Even though Lance was mostly just a spectator in this unfolding scenario, even _his_ face was starting to feel a bit warm just from having to stand there and watch it happen. 

Matt took a small step back, like he was thinking about walking away, but then stopped short. Letting out a short sigh, he ran a hand through his hair before looking up at Keith again. "Hey ... Sorry if this seems out of the blue, but I feel like I'm gonna kick myself if I don't ask so ... do you wanna dance?" 

The noise of the party around them seemed to fade away for a moment, and Lance was conscious of a tinny ringing sound in his ears. Even though he had sort of seen this coming, he hadn't expected Matt to flat-out hit on Keith when Lance was standing _right there_. ... Not that it mattered or anything. He and Keith were just friends, after all—if you could even call them friends, when they hadn't even known each other for twenty-four hours. 

Still, there was a tight feeling behind his sternum as he side-eyed Keith and awaited his response. 

Keith didn't seem to even comprehend what Matt had said at first, his face momentarily blank before his eyes widened a fraction. "Dance ... ?" he repeated, like he had never heard the word before. "You mean like, with you?" 

Matt huffed out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, that—that's what I meant." 

"Oh." There was a flat note to Keith's voice that was difficult to interpret. He coughed into his fist. "Thanks, I appreciate the offer," he said, in a tone that was almost oddly formal. "But ..." 

He didn't seem to know how to complete the sentence. But Matt clearly understood, judging by the way he seemed to deflate—his shoulders sagging and his smile weakening. He held up a hand to indicate Keith didn't need to say anything else. 

"Hey, it's okay," he said. "No hard feelings or anything. Just thought I would ask." 

His eyes darted towards Lance briefly, and he grinned again as if nothing had happened. "Well ... it was nice seeing both of you." 

Lance had kind of forgotten he had a voice until then, and he cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh ... you too." 

Matt gave an awkward little wave, before he started to back away. "See you around!" 

"See ya," Lance said in return, but at that point Matt had already turned around and disappeared back into the crowd. 

As soon as he was gone, Lance turned to look at Keith, who was running a hand down his face as he let out a heavy sigh. 

"God, that was awkward." 

Lance scoffed. "You're telling _me_. I'm the one who had to stand here watching the whole thing."

"I'm sorry," Keith said with a wince. "I hope he didn't think I was being rude. I just ..." 

He trailed off, like he wasn't sure how to explain himself. 

"What?" Lance said, raising an eyebrow. "Not into guys?" 

The question seemed to slip out of its own accord, and Lance immediately wished he could rewind time and take it back. He hadn't meant to ask something so personal out of nowhere, and all he could do was hope that it had come off as curious and not invasive. Still, he felt like his breath was stuck in his throat as he waited for Keith's answer.

To his surprise, Keith didn't appear to be offended. He only blinked in confusion, like he was mystified as to why Lance had even asked. Then, seeming to fully process the question, he let out a small huff—what sounded almost like a soft laugh—as he looked away. 

"I didn't say that." 

_Oh_. Somehow this felt like a monumental new piece of information ... one that made Lance feel like his heart was doing a few dangerous aerial maneuvers. 

He quickly gathered himself again, trying to keep his tone casual. "So, you just don't like dancing?" 

"I didn't say that, either." Keith bit his lip, scratching the side of his neck as he lifted his gaze again. "It's just ... maybe there's someone else I'd rather dance with." 

The words didn't hit Lance right away—and even when they did, he was certain he had misinterpreted them. Because ... no. No way. Hesitantly, he glanced over his shoulder like he expected to see some mysterious handsome stranger that Keith had been referring to. 

"And who might that be?" he asked. When Keith just gave him a pointed look, he felt the smile drop off his face as he pointed at himself in disbelief. "You mean ... ?" 

Keith's hands were clenched into fists at his sides, like he had just challenged Lance to a fight rather than inviting him to dance. "I mean ... only if you want to." 

Lance felt like his limbs had gone numb, and he had to resist the urge to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't imagining this. He somehow managed to control himself enough to prevent his jaw from actually dropping. After a short pause, he felt his mouth turn up slowly at one corner in a genuine smile. 

"Sure, I'm down," he said with a shrug, hoping it sounded casual. "Just be prepared for me to totally show you up on the dance floor."

That seemed to relieve some of the tension, and Keith smirked in response. "Guess we'll see about that." 

The playful confidence in the words made a sudden fire run through Lance's veins. He decided to chalk it up to his competitive streak flaring up and not anything other than that. 

"Well, then," he said. "Shall we?" 

He held out his arm in a gesture of mock formality. Although he had meant it as a joke, Keith seemed to take it seriously based on the way his smile dropped. He stared at Lance's offered arm, hesitating, before linking his own arm through it. 

Lance practically choked, and hoped Keith didn’t hear it. Pulling himself together again, he cleared his throat and tried to ignore the alarms that blared in his head at Keith's sudden proximity.

Then, he led them towards the dance floor.

  


* * *

  


This was a bad idea.

That was the one thought cycling in Keith's head on a loop as he and Lance navigated their way between the people milling about on the deck. With every step, Keith became increasingly conscious of everywhere his arm was touching Lance's, how their shoulders kept brushing together. 

_A very bad idea_ , his mind supplied helpfully as they drew closer to the dance floor. Not only because he was a horrible dancer, and he wasn't sure what had possessed him to insinuate otherwise, but also because this—whatever was happening between him and Lance—could _not_ happen.

It had been risky enough coming to this party in the first place, but at least he could've stayed at the fringes of it rather than inviting Lance to dance with him where everyone could see them. Keith knew he was putting himself at greater risk of being recognized ... but besides that, he had a sick feeling, like he was somehow leading Lance on, making him think that _something_ could happen when there was no such possibility.

For some reason, though, Keith had been unable to stop himself from making the invitation, as selfish as it probably was. After all, he didn't have long before he would need to return to the Castle of Lions, and he wanted to make every last moment count—and to have at least some semblance of closure, even if it was a bittersweet end.

All of his worried thoughts seemed to flee from his mind as soon as they set foot onto the dance floor. The band was still playing an upbeat tune—something that sounded like a swing of some kind. The music was loud enough that Keith could feel it vibrating through his ribcage, and it was impossible not to get caught up in the colorful scene of couples spinning and laughing while paper lanterns swayed in the light breeze overhead. 

Keith slipped his arm out of Lance's and turned to face him, both of them standing still in the sea of people dancing around them. When they were standing this close, Keith was suddenly very aware that Lance was a couple of inches taller than him. His heart seized up as he looked up and saw the way Lance's dark eyes practically seemed to glitter from all the lights around them, how his tie was slightly loosened and his suit jacket somewhat rumpled in a way that was unfairly charming. 

Keith found himself thinking of the wish he'd made at the wall earlier, and he tried to banish the thought as quickly as possible so his face wouldn't turn bright red. 

That was probably a lost cause, though, as he could feel the inevitable heat rising to his cheeks when Lance grinned at him and offered his hand. With a timid smile of his own, Keith reached out and took it. 

... Which was when the music came to a stop. 

The sudden change felt like a slap in the face, and Keith looked around in bewilderment. Everyone around them had stopped dancing, and there were a few scattered whoops and clapping. Up on the stand, the band acknowledged the crowd's enthusiasm with polite nods as they adjusted their instruments and exchanged some muttered words amongst themselves. They were probably just pausing between songs, Keith realized. 

It occurred to him then that he and Lance were still holding hands, and he felt like his soul was detaching from his body as they made eye contact and both laughed awkwardly. All Keith could do was pray that the music would resume soon and they wouldn't be stuck in this position for much longer. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the band members starting to lift their instruments again, and started to release a silent breath of relief ... but when they started to play again, his heart dropped. 

The song was almost the exact opposite of what they had been playing a minute earlier—softer and more subdued, the pace considerably slower. There was an obvious shift in the atmosphere, most of the chatter on the dance floor dying down as all of the couples pulled each other closer. 

Panic ran through Keith like an electric current, as his mind scrambled for some excuse to escape before he humiliated himself. But the sense of horror ebbed away when he saw how Lance's expression hadn't changed much; he was still smiling, although there was a slight hesitation to it now. 

"So," Lance said, drawing out the single word. "Are we just gonna stand here, or ... ?" 

"Um ..." Keith tried to regain his composure, searching his brain for anything coherent to say. "I'm not a great dancer," he said at last, lamely. 

That didn't seem to perturb Lance in the slightest. In fact, he chuckled like he had almost expected Keith to say something of that variety. "Well, luckily for you, my mom forced me to take a few ballroom dance lessons as a kid. Just follow my lead, okay?"

"O-okay," Keith stammered. 

He had also gone through numerous dance lessons against his will, but every technique he'd ever been taught seemed to have fled somewhere to the far corners of his mind. It was hard to think of anything at all, really, when Lance was taking control of their linked hands and lifting them gently into the air, while his other hand slipped to the small of Keith's back. 

The single point of contact felt like an electric current that raced all the way up Keith's spine—but after that moment of initial shock, it was more like a warm and steadying presence holding him in place. As panicked as Keith was, he was at least lucid enough to remember basic dance form, and on instinct he lifted his free hand to rest it on Lance's shoulder. 

They remained still, like time had frozen. The position felt a bit stiff and forced at first—it reminded Keith of years ago when he'd gone to a few painfully awkward dances in his time at private school, how during slow dances kids would dance at arm's length while staring at the floor the whole time. 

But Keith soon found himself giving in to the slight pressure Lance applied against his back. He took a cautious step forward, so there were mere inches between their faces—and he might have toppled over at the sight of Lance’s crooked smile if Lance hadn’t been literally holding him up. 

“Hi,” Lance said, like they were meeting each other for the first time. 

Keith huffed out a soft laugh, feeling like something had loosened in his chest. “Hi.”

Some of the tension eased from Keith’s limbs, and the music started to lull him into a sense of safety—that, combined with the security of Lance’s arm around him. 

When Lance took a small step forward, Keith’s foot moved back almost of its own accord. He’d been telling the truth that he’d never been much of a dancer … but as the two of them started to move in tandem, he wondered if it was maybe just that he’d never found the right person to dance with. Not that his footing was perfect, or that he didn’t stumble once or twice, but surprisingly, he didn’t feel embarrassed. And for the most part, he managed to keep his balance and to easily follow Lance’s lead. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed—it seemed to somehow last an eternity but also to go by in the blink of an eye—but soon the song ended and segued into another one. It was perhaps even slower than the one before it, a smooth and subtle melody that seemed to enrich the air with warmth. Distantly, Keith was aware that the sky had grown dark overhead and that the stars had started to come out, but he hardly cared. 

Somehow in the midst of their dancing, he and Lance had moved even closer together so they were almost chest-to-chest. Their movements had slowed along with the pace of the music, to a gentle swaying back and forth in place. Suddenly feeling self-conscious about making any eye contact, Keith glanced around them to observe the way the nearby couples were dancing—and noticed that amongst the pairs, many of them had their head resting against their partner’s shoulder. 

Keith didn’t know where the sudden sense of boldness came from—and, well, it was also that he and Lance’s proximity had grown so close that there wasn’t really anything else he could do … but slowly, he found himself gravitating towards Lance’s shoulder until his forehead pressed against it. 

He thought he heard Lance inhale sharply, and was worried for a moment that he’d done something wrong. But almost right away, Lance relaxed again, his arm wrapping even further around Keith’s torso. At the same time, Keith’s hand slid to Lance’s back and rested there, fingers clutching slightly at the fabric of his jacket. 

After forgetting to breathe for several long moments, Keith finally released a shaking exhale. He closed his eyes, settling even further into the embrace until there was practically no space left between them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed himself to get so close to someone—much less someone he hardly knew—yet somehow, it felt completely natural. 

Even though there was a small voice at the back of his mind reminding him that this was a bad idea, that he was only going to make things more painful for himself in the end, he couldn't seem to move away. It felt as if nothing existed outside of this small secure sphere. There was only the soft melodies of the music, the solidity of Lance's shoulder beneath his head, the grounding presence of Lance's arm around his waist. 

As they continued to rock slowly back and forth, Keith turned his head a little and allowed his eyes to blink open. He was met with the sideways view of the party around them—the couples swaying on the dance floor, groups of people chatting and drinking in the background, the subtle glow of the overhanging lanterns illuminating everything in a soft light. 

He couldn't say what exactly came over him then ... but even though the scene was peaceful, Keith suddenly had a nagging sense of uneasiness. As much as he wished he could ignore it, he couldn't shake away the feeling that something was out of place ... which was when his gaze shifted to the fringes of the crowd, and he saw a dark-clad figure standing there. 

A few things caught his attention at once. Firstly, the guy looked like someone out of your stereotypical spy movie—dressed in a black suit and wearing sunglasses even though it was already dark outside. He was also just standing there by himself, not conversing with anyone, hands folded behind his back. He appeared to be a bit older than the rest of the crowd as well, if the streak of gray in his hair was anything to go by. 

But most alarming of all was that his attention seemed to be turned directly towards Keith. 

"Keith?" 

The sound of Lance's concerned voice startled him out of his thoughts. Until then, he hadn't noticed that he'd gone totally rigid, and he instinctively lifted his head from Lance's shoulder. He also hadn't noticed that the music had come to a stop. 

Hastily, he took a step back. The deck of the ship felt a bit unsteady under his feet, but luckily Lance was still holding him by the elbow when he stumbled. 

"Whoa ... hey, are you okay?" 

Keith blinked, trying to clear his head. He looked up at Lance's worried face and then back to where the man in the suit had been standing ... but in a matter of seconds, he had already disappeared. _What the hell?_

"Huh? Yeah, I—I'm, uh ..." Keith stammered, trying to find his voice again. "I'm fine. Why?"

Lance didn't seem convinced, his frown remaining as his eyes searched Keith's face. "I don't know, you looked really freaked out for a second." 

"Oh." The single syllable came out sounding hollow and forced. Keith cleared his throat. "It's nothing. Just ... tired, I guess." 

The excuse didn't sound at all believable to his own ears. But after scrutinizing him for a few more seconds, Lance nodded. "Well ... I don't know about you, but I could use some water right now. You want me to get you some?" 

Keith’s thoughts were still racing, but he somehow managed a hesitant smile. "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks." 

Lance's expression softened, easing back into such a dazzling smile that it was almost enough to chase Keith's worries away. "Cool, I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere, okay?" He squeezed Keith's elbow and winked. 

"Okay," Keith answered—but by then, Lance had already let go and had started to weave his way through the crowd and towards the bar. 

Keith had half a mind to follow him, but hung back as he surveyed the crowd. Still no sign of the mysterious man who had been watching him a minute ago. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he walked a few paces backwards towards the edge of the crowd. He didn't intend to wander too far—maybe just over to the side where he could lean against the railing and rest a bit. 

But he hadn't taken more than a couple steps before he felt a firm grip around his forearm, and then two words that sent panic racing through him like a bolt of lightning. 

"Your highness."

  


* * *

  


Lance hummed to himself as he made his way towards the bar. He couldn't seem to wipe the giddy smile off his face, or rid his chest of the butterflies that had gathered there. 

He knew that soon he and Keith would need to part ways. Yet, getting to share that dance together had felt … well, _magical_ was really the only way to put it. He had expected it to be awkward—and it had been a little, at first—but he'd been surprised by how natural dancing with Keith felt. In some explicable way, it felt like something they'd done a hundred times before, the movements as easy as breathing. 

Lance could still practically feel the phantom sensation of Keith's head resting against his shoulder, of his arm around Keith's waist. But the more he thought about it, the more his smile started to fade. An aching, empty feeling gnawed its way through his ribcage. Because, any minute now, this would all be—

"Lance, hey!"

Looking up, he noticed Hunk shouldering his way through the crowd. Shay was right behind him, holding onto his hand, bearing her usual sweet smile and her large hoop earrings glinting in the light. 

"Oh, hey." Lance straightened his tie and smiled. "There you are. And glad you could make it, Shay." 

"Me, too," she said, looking around them in awe. "This is so nice! I love all the lights." 

Lance was about to say something in agreement, when he noticed Hunk giving him a smug look. "What?" 

"What do you mean, 'what'?" 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" 

“Nothing, nothing,” said Hunk, fiddling with the camera hanging around his neck. “Just, I saw you dancing with Keith just now. It looked like you two were having a nice time.” 

If it hadn't been for Shay standing right there, Lance probably would have given him a death glare in response. Instead, he kept a smile plastered to his face but widened his eyes at Hunk just a bit—which he hoped read as a signal for _please be quiet_. 

"Oh? Who is Keith?" Shay asked, tilting her head. Although her tone was deceptively sweet, Lance recognized the excited glint in her eyes that always appeared when she'd latched onto a hint of new gossip. She and Hunk were similar in that way—both extremely nice people, but also very _nosy_. 

"Oh—no one. I mean, he's ... you know. A friend." Lance tried not to wince at how badly he'd stumbled over the words. There was no way _that_ had sounded convincing. 

"Is he here?" Shay asked, glancing over Lance's shoulder and skimming over the crowded deck. "I would love to meet him!"

"Well, uh ..." Lance scratched the back of his head, trying to come up with any possible excuse to get out of this without it sounded totally suspicious. "I don't know if he's—" 

Before he could finish the sentence, he was cut off by Hunk gasping sharply. Lance looked at him in alarm, to see that Hunk was staring at something behind him, his eyes wide. 

"Shit ... Lance, look." 

A cold feeling of panic washed over Lance at the panicked tone of his friend's voice. Without even bothering to ask Hunk what he was looking at, he whirled around.

He found the bright red of Keith's jacket in the crowd almost immediately. But he saw, with a shock of dread, that Keith wasn't alone. There was a tall man in a black suit and sunglasses standing right next to him, gripping onto Keith's arm. His mouth moved—and although Lance obviously couldn't hear him from where he stood, he saw how much Keith's posture had stiffened and the way he was trying to tug his arm out of the man's grip. 

As the initial panic wore off, Lance felt something hot and angry boil in the pit of his stomach. He started to march forward, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He was distantly aware of Hunk saying something behind him—probably trying to stop him—but he didn't even hear what it was. 

His focus remained on Keith, and the man who was now forcibly trying to drag him away. Keith remained rooted to the spot but stumbled a little as he resisted, the annoyance on his face giving way to fear.

Lance had no idea who this guy was, or whether Keith had ever seen him before. But in any case, it was clear on Keith's face that he was not being taken away willingly—and that was enough to give Lance the courage he needed as he pushed his way through the rest of the crowd.

" _Hey_ ," he said, just loudly enough to be heard over the music and chatter in the surrounding area.

Several people turned in surprise—including Keith, whose eyes grew wide with terror. Although he said nothing, there seemed to be a warning in his gaze telling Lance to not get involved. But it wasn't like Lance could just stand there and watch Keith get hauled away against his will ... especially when this suspicious man could have been an assassin or something, for all Lance knew.

His outburst at least seemed to have caught the attention of the man in question, who looked up with a sneer. Now that he had gotten closer, Lance could see that the man was several inches taller than him and built like a tank—he could probably take Lance down with a single punch. Yet, Lance swallowed his fear as he came to a stop and crossed his arms. 

"What exactly is going on here?" 

He prayed that the panic wasn't visible on his face or in his voice, as he glared at the man with demanding scrutiny. He received only a blank look in return—one that made a shudder run up his spine. 

"Nothing you want to get involved in," the man said. Although he kept his voice level, there was a threatening undercurrent to the words. "Now, I suggest you move aside."

Despite the wild pounding of his pulse in his ears, Lance stood his ground. "Yeah, I don't think so," he said—like he was holding a casual conversation, and not standing up to some kind of secret agent who could probably kill him in two seconds flat. "It looks to me like you're bothering my friend here, so actually I _do_ want to get involved." 

"Lance," Keith said—and Lance could hear the strained note of warning in his voice, but he put aside his better judgement and chose to ignore it. 

The man continued to glare at Lance, squaring his shoulders and straightening to his full, intimidating height. He let out a low scoff. "Listen, I don't know what he's told you. But I can assure you he's not who you think he is." 

Out of the corner of his eye, Lance saw Keith stiffen—but he pretended not to see it, only raising an eyebrow in false incredulity. "Is that so?"

A muscle in the man's jaw twitched, and he dropped Keith's arm. He took half a step forward, glaring down at Lance. "Back off. Now." 

Lance refused to let his cool façade drop, remaining glued to the spot and returning the man's challenging stare. "Oh, yeah? Maybe _you're_ the one who should—"

He didn't even finish the sentence before there was a sudden blur of movement as the man lunged towards him, and then he felt something slam forcefully against his chest as the man shoved him backwards.

Lance reeled back, just barely managing to regain his balance without falling backwards. He had almost crashed into a cluster of people, who all looked up at once and murmured in confusion. But all of that was at the back of Lance's mind as he straightened again, wheezing and rubbing at the spot on his chest where he'd been pushed. 

He heard an angry cry just then, and looked up to find that it was Keith who had uttered the sound—and that there was a fury on his face that was downright _murderous_ as he grabbed the man by the arm and yanked him halfway around. Then, in one swift movement, he pulled his fist back and punched the man in the face. 

Time seemed to slow down, as the blow landed to the side of the man's temple. It was such a hard punch that it made his head snap to one side, his sunglasses flying off, and the solid _crack_ of it was so audible that Lance winced. 

In the immediate area surrounding them, everyone fell silent and looked up in shock. The sound of the sunglasses skittering across the deck was practically like a bomb dropping.

It took a few seconds for Lance to recover, realizing that his jaw had dropped in astonishment. Snapping his mouth shut again, he looked over at Keith—who now wore an expression of wide-eyed horror, like he couldn't believe what he had just done. His fist still lingered in the air, and he stared at it briefly before shaking out his hand and letting it drop to his side. While the man was still bent over, groaning and rubbing at the spot on his head where he'd been hit, Keith dashed over to Lance's side. 

"Lance, are you okay?" 

Lance couldn't seem to find his voice. Looking at the concerned expression on Keith's face, and feeling the gentle hand that closed around his wrist, it was hard to believe that this was the same Keith who had looked about ready to commit murder about twenty seconds ago—and to commit it in Lance's defense, no less. 

"I ..." Lance cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The corner of Keith's mouth twitched up in the hint of a relieved smile—but it was short-lived as the man stood up straight again and stalked towards them. Now that his shades had fallen off, the angry gleam in his dark eyes made him all the more imposing. 

Lance gasped and took an instinctive step backwards. At the same time, Keith's grip on his wrist tightened as he took a step in front of Lance. 

The man's shoulders heaved up and down as he took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice shook with a barely-contained fury. "That's enough. You're coming with me." 

"Like hell I am," Keith spat in response. 

Lance would have been in support of him standing up for himself—but right then he noticed a couple of other black-clad figures weaving their way through the crowd, and his blood froze in his veins.

"Uh ... Keith?" he said. 

Keith seemed to notice it at the same time, and he cursed under his breath. 

To make matters worse, a wide space was beginning to clear out around them as more people took notice of the commotion that had broken out. Lance felt suddenly exposed as he turned around so that he and Keith were back-to-back, noticing the countless pairs of wary eyes that had fallen on them. Even the band seemed to have noticed by now, the music trailing off to a few scattered notes.

"Lance," Keith said, keeping his voice low. "You should probably run."

"What? No," Lance hissed. "We're gonna get out of this mess together. Just ... hold them off, and then we'll make a break for it." 

"But–" Keith started to protest, but he was cut off by a few alarmed cries from the midst of the crowd. 

Lance tensed as he looked up and saw people leaping aside to make way for a figure barreling their way through—another dark-suited man, who was racing directly towards Lance.

There wasn't much time to think or come up with a plan of any kind. All Lance could do was brace himself and launch into a fighting stance, praying that he had at least the basic means to defend himself. 

Everything after that seemed to happen in a blur, like Lance was watching it all through someone else's eyes. He felt a heavy force slam into him—a hand or a shoulder maybe, he wasn't sure—trying to knock him aside.

With a cry of protest, he whirled around and grasped at the collar of his attacker, pulling a fist back in preparation to throw a punch ... only to feel strong fingers grab him by the wrist and twist his arm around, pinning it painfully against his back. He caught a glimpse of a man's face snarling at him in annoyance, before he was pushed violently backwards. 

Lance yelped as he stumbled back, distantly aware of the partygoers that scattered away on either side of him with startled cries. He thought he heard a glass falling to the deck of the ship and shattering. But that was the least of his worries as his back hit the railing of the boat and he almost toppled over it.

The scene around him had dissolved into chaos—footfalls thundering against the wooden deck, some people running to find the closest exit, others lingering behind to watch the fight unfold. 

That was all at the back of Lance's mind, though, as he struggled to free himself from the solid arm pressed against his chest trying to hold him in place. "Keith!" he yelled, although he doubted Keith could hear him over all the noise. 

Over his captor's shoulder, he could see that Keith now had two men on either side of him, each of them grabbing at one of his arms and trying to pull him away. But Keith was putting up a good fight, wrenching one of his arms free and jamming his elbow as hard as he could into one man's sternum, then stepping hard on the foot of the other. 

That was all Lance caught a glimpse of, before another figure blocked his view. His heart dropped into his stomach as he assumed it was yet another foe to face—but relief flooded him when instead he heard a familiar voice yell, "Hey, let go of my friend!" 

There was a flash of surprise on the face of Lance's attacker, before he was hauled backwards. 

"Hunk!" Lance exclaimed, stumbling away from the railing. 

Hunk seemed a bit too preoccupied to hear him. He had grabbed the man by the back of his jacket and yanked him back as if he weighed nothing, then proceeded to pull him into a headlock. 

"Lance," Hunk said, voice a bit strained as he struggled to keep the struggling man from escaping. "Car keys. Back pocket."

"Huh?" 

"Take my car! You and Keith ... get out of here." 

"What about—" 

"I'll be fine, now _go_." 

As reluctant as Lance was to leave his best friend behind in the middle of this mess, it seemed like there was no changing Hunk's mind. After chewing his lip in hesitation, he gave a short nod. "I owe you one, buddy." He fished the keys from Hunk's pocket and sprinted across the deck. 

He immediately saw, to his relief, that Keith had freed himself from the two men who had been trying to drag him away, and had clambered up onto the music stand. A few of the musicians still remained, clutching onto their instruments. The two dark-suited men were trying to climb onto the platform after him. 

Lance reached them just in time, gritting his teeth as he grabbed one of the men by the shoulders and tried to pull him down. All Lance succeeded in doing was making him stumble back a little, but it was at least enough of a momentary distraction. 

Dread coursed through him a moment later, though, when the man turned on him with a threatening sneer. Lance tried to take a step back, but at that point the man had grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him away. The shove practically sent Lance flying; he tripped and fell on his back so hard that the wind was knocked from his lungs. 

Coughing, he struggled to sit up again. A shadow fell over him just as he managed to prop himself up on his elbows, and Lance looked up in terror to find the man was still looming over him and was now stalking towards him again. 

"Lance!" Keith cried out. 

Lance spared a glance in his direction, to find that Keith was still situated on the music stand. Most of the musicians had scattered by now, except for a few that were backed up against the railing behind him, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. 

The other man, who had been trying to climb up onto the stage after Keith not long before, was currently doubled over and clutching at his stomach—Keith must have hit or kicked him somehow. But he had quickly recovered and was lurching towards the platform again. 

Keith didn't even seem to notice, his gaze fixed on Lance and his posture tense like he was planning to leap down and run over to help him. 

"Keith, look out!" Lance shouted to him. 

At the same time, he looked up at the man still coming towards him and made a split-second decision. Praying that this would actually work, he swept a leg out as hard as he could and knocked the man's feet out from under him. Lance couldn't help but feel a momentary sense of triumph as the man hit the ground with a grunt and a loud _thud_. Maybe watching a million terrible action movies had paid off, after all.

As he hauled himself to his feet, he saw that Keith had backed up a few steps until he nearly bumped into the musicians standing behind him. One of them stepped up just then and tapped Keith on the shoulder, holding out his guitar and saying something Lance couldn't hear. Keith's eyes widened, but then he gave a short nod and took hold of the guitar. 

Lance had started to move forward but now stopped in his tracks, staring in bewilderment. _Why is he ... ? Oh, wait. Don't tell me he's going to—_

Before he could even complete the thought, he saw Keith swing the guitar out in an arc and hit his pursuer in the side of the head. 

The instrument made a hollow thunking noise as it made contact, and the man let out a short cry as he reeled backwards.

"Woohoo, yeah!" Lance heard someone shout behind him—Hunk's voice, he realized. "Hit him again, Keith!" 

Keith did. This time he brought the guitar down from above, and the sound of splintering wood rang through the air as the instrument smashed over the man's head. There was a brief white flash and a clicking noise ... _Is Hunk really taking pictures right now?_ Lance shoved the thought aside, focused on running the rest of the way to the platform. 

The man who Keith had hit had fallen onto his knees, and was now clutching at the back of his head and groaning. Keith had dropped the guitar and wore a dazed expression like he was vaguely horrified by what he had done—but he seemed to snap out of it when he saw Lance dashing towards him. 

"Come on!" Lance said urgently, and reached up a hand. After hesitating for about two seconds, Keith took it and jumped down.

"Where are we going?" he asked as Lance started to drag him away. 

"Back to Hunk's car. He gave me the keys." 

Lance kept a firm grip on Keith's hand as he led them to the walkway leading off the boat. When they stepped onto the dock, he looked both ways and focused on the small boathouse to their right. 

"Come on," he said, tugging Keith towards it. "Let's sneak around back."

They sprinted for the boathouse, ducking around the corner. It wasn't until then that they let go of each other's hands, flattening themselves against the wall and both trying to catch their breath. Keith started to inch over a bit, but Lance held up a hand and shook his head in a silent signal that they should wait.

Seconds ticked by as they continued to stand there against the wall, shoulders almost brushing. Lance listened intently for any sound of footsteps or any other sign they had been followed, but all he could hear was the lapping of the water underneath the dock. 

Finally deciding it was safe, he nudged Keith's arm with his elbow and gestured to the left with his head to indicate they should keep going. Keith nodded in response. With that, they started to move slowly along the wall. 

They had almost reached the corner when Lance paused. He had thought he heard a light scuffling from nearby—like the sound of someone moving across the dock. He held his breath, waiting ... but he heard nothing else. Maybe it had been his imagination, after all. 

He turned the corner. 

Lance only had about half a second to process what he was seeing—but his heart almost stopped as he saw a dark figure standing on the dock in front of him. He couldn't see their features in the dim light—just the outline of a shadow—but of course that hardly mattered, seeing as they were lunging forward to attack him. 

He didn't even have time to cry out before he felt a fist crack hard against the side of his jaw. As if in slow-motion, he felt himself reeling backwards—his feet slipping and tripping over the edge of the dock—

And then he hit the water and was engulfed in silence. 

  


* * *

  


It had all happened in the blink of an eye. 

One moment Keith had been following Lance along the edge of the wall. Then, as soon as they started to turn the corner, Keith had heard a sickening crack and had only been able to watch in horror as Lance toppled over the side of the deck and fell into the canal with a loud splash. 

Keith's breath caught, and his blood froze with panic. " _Lance!_ " 

He hardly even thought about whether Lance's attacker was still there as he stumbled to the edge of the dock—only to feel a pair of hands grab him by the wrists and pin them against his back, trying to pull him away. 

Keith let out a stream of curses, trying to wrench his arms free to no avail. Finally, he threw his head backwards into his captor's face, which elicited a sharp crack and a grunt of pain. Using that distraction to his advantage, Keith dropped all his weight and finally managed to yank his wrists free of the man's grip. 

Then, without hesitating a moment longer, he ran for the edge of the dock and jumped.

He plunged into the water a half-second later, the cold shocking through him. After sinking a couple feet, he propelled himself back up to the surface and emerged again with a gasp.

He blinked several times, and was relieved to see Lance treading water next to him, sputtering and coughing. 

"Lance—" he started to say, but didn't even have time to ask if he was okay before Lance was already tugging on his sleeve and gesturing for him to follow. 

"Come on, this way." 

He started to swim, and Keith had no choice but to go after him. Lance seemed to know where they were going, leading them along the canal until Keith could see they were moving towards an arching stone bridge. 

Neither of them spoke the whole way, preoccupied with maneuvering through the water. It was so cold that Keith didn't think he would've been able to speak, anyway. By the time they were nearing the bridge, his teeth were chattering and his limbs felt slightly numb. 

When they were finally underneath the shadow of the stone archway, Lance clambered up the rocky slope, where there was a small stone outcropping that formed a sort of ledge. He turned around and reached down to help Keith up after him. After quickly glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed them, Keith took Lance's hand and pulled himself upward. 

Water spilled off of him and splattered over the surrounding rocks as he stepped out of the canal. He sat down heavily on the ledge, wiping wet strands of hair out of his eyes. Lance sat down right next to him, so their shoulders were pressed together. 

At first, all Keith could do was stare at the rippling surface of the water and try to catch his breath. Adrenaline was still spiking through his veins from their narrow escape, but he finally managed to pull himself together as he looked over at Lance in concern. 

"Lance, are you okay?" 

Lance turned towards him, looking a bit perplexed for a second before clarity seeped back into his eyes. "Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine." He touched his jaw, working it back and forth experimentally. "He didn't actually hit me that hard—I think mostly he just took me by surprise, y'know?"

Keith wasn't so convinced. He could still practically hear the solid sound of the man's fist hitting Lance in the face, could almost feel it as if he had received the blow himself.

"Are you sure?" he said. "Just let me—"

Without even thinking about it, he had reached over to grasp Lance by the wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. He only examined Lance's jaw for about two seconds before he realized how tense Lance had gone all of a sudden—and that Keith had leaned even closer to him so that there were only inches between their faces. 

Clearing his throat, he let go of Lance's hand and pulled back, not daring to make eye contact. "Okay, it—it looks fine," he stammered. "I just wanted to be sure." 

Lance didn't answer right away, but his shoulder relaxed against Keith's. "Well ... thanks," he said, like he wasn't sure what else to say. "For checking." 

They fell into a short silence. The water kept babbling beneath them, and everything was still except for the dancing threads of light reflected on the underside of the bridge. 

Then, Keith could feel Lance start shaking.

He looked up right away, worried that something was wrong, only to find that Lance was _grinning_ like he'd just been told the funniest joke he'd ever heard, and that he was shaking because he was trying to contain his laughter.

"What's so funny?" Keith asked, although he could already feel his own mouth twitching up at one corner. 

"Nothing, nothing." Lance pushed a hand through his damp hair. "I just can't believe everything that just happened."

A breathless laugh escaped from him, and Keith found that he couldn't help but join in with a timid laugh of his own. Before he knew it, they were both leaning against each other and giggling ceaselessly—like they were two kids who had gotten caught pulling some stupid prank, and not like they'd just beat up and run away from a bunch of dangerous secret agents.

Soon their laughter started to die down, and a shudder ran through Keith as he realized how cold he still was. He wrapped his arms around himself, pulling his jacket closer to his body ... and then, he felt Lance's arm slide around his shoulders. 

"You alright?" 

Keith couldn't seem to find his voice. He felt like his body temperature had shot up by several degrees, and not just because of Lance's close proximity. He dared to look up, and his pulse accelerated when he realized how close Lance's face was—so close that their foreheads were almost touching, so close that Keith could see the water droplets lingering on Lance's eyelashes. Anything he'd been about to say died in his throat, but he somehow managed a small nod.

Lance was still smiling, his gaze shifting back and forth between Keith's eyes. "You know," he said, "you were pretty amazing back there." 

The softness in his tone made the back of Keith's scalp prickle. He was speechless for a moment, only able to let out a short huff of breath. "You weren't so bad yourself."

There was a distinctive change in the atmosphere then, like an electric current had run through the air. Keith watched as the smile faded from Lance's face, replaced by a dazed look like he'd just realized something.

Then his arm tightened around Keith's shoulders, pulling him forward and closing the rest of the small distance between them. 

When their lips touched, it felt similar to when Keith had jumped into the canal not long before—a sudden shock that made his whole body go rigid until he adjusted to the feeling of floating, of pulling himself back up to the surface. 

His breath stilled in his chest and his eyes drifted closed. The rest of the world seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving nothing but the sensation of the press of Lance's mouth against his—just lingering there at first, and then moving in experimental ministrations that made Keith feel as if his heart had stopped and then started again.

Lance's lips were still cold, but somehow that wasn’t a bad thing. It was a pleasant juxtaposition to the heat that rushed through Keith's body as he started to kiss Lance back, leaning forward and grasping at the damp fabric of his jacket collar. 

One of Lance's arms was still wrapped around Keith's shoulders while his free hand soon worked its way into Keith's hair, threading through the wet strands. Keith leaned into the touch and angled his head a bit to make the slide of their lips easier. His hand had unclenched from Lance's collar to travel up the side of his neck and cradle his jaw. Meanwhile, Lance kept pressing forward and started to deepen the kiss, coaxing Keith's lips apart with his and—

Right then, somewhere nearby, a siren started wailing. 

They broke apart with a gasp, both looking up in alarm in the direction the noise had come from. Although there was no visible sign of danger, the sound was growing closer and was soon accompanied by the flicker of red and blue lights and the rumble of several vehicles going over the bridge.

Keith and Lance inched further back into the shadows, huddling together and continuing to stare up fearfully. But after several moments, the police cars had passed overhead and the sirens faded into the distance. 

Still, neither of them moved until the silence had returned. Keith realized then how hard he was trembling and the way his heart was hammering madly in his ribcage—partly from his momentary panic, and also from ... well ... 

He dared to turn and look at Lance, who still had his head tilted up like he was waiting to see if more police were about to arrive. His damp hair curled around the shell of his ear, and a droplet of water ran down the side of his neck. Keith couldn't seem to tear his gaze away, still recovering from the brief thrill of feeling Lance's tongue against his lower lip right before they'd been interrupted. 

He wanted nothing more than to pull Lance in and continue right from where they left off—but as Lance finally turned to meet his gaze, those hopes were immediately dashed. It was like a wall had suddenly gone up, and there was a slight pinch to Lance's brow and a guarded expression in his eyes that made Keith feel like his heart had taken a steep dive into his stomach. 

"Uh ..." Lance's arm loosened from around Keith's shoulders and he pulled back. "We should probably get outta here, huh?" 

Keith swallowed and managed a small nod in agreement. "Right. We should … yeah." 

Lance at least started to smile again, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. He got to his feet, reaching down to help Keith up. Although he still felt a bit dizzy and confused about everything that had just happened, Keith reached up to take hold of Lance's hand and pulled himself to his feet. 

Then, without saying a word, they ducked out from underneath the bridge and made their escape. 

  


* * *

  


Lance had made a huge mistake. 

He still didn't know what had possessed him to do it. Sure, it wasn't like he could deny that he'd found Keith attractive ever since they'd met the night before ... and that throughout all the time they'd spent together all day he'd also learned that Keith was adventurous and kind and fun to be around and—well, it didn't matter. None of it mattered, because Keith was a _prince_.

Keith was a prince, and Lance was just some normal guy. A guy who had literally just run into Keith on the street, and then had dragged him around the city all day with some ridiculous notion about writing an article about him—and then, even more foolishly, somehow seemed to have caught feelings for him along the way. Which was insane, really, since they'd known each other for less than a day. 

He was trying not to even think about it, but ... well, it was hard _not_ to think about it. Especially when Keith was sitting in the car next to him right now. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance kept sneaking small glances in Keith's direction—and took note of Keith's stiff posture, the way his hands were curled into fists in his lap, the way he was staring out the window and was looking pretty much anywhere except in Lance's direction.

There was a heavy, sinking feeling in Lance's chest as he turned his attention back to the road. Neither of them had spoken or acknowledged the kiss in any way during this whole trip, and Lance wasn't sure how to interpret that. Maybe Keith was mad at him, or the kiss had been super disappointing, or ... there were a lot of possibilities, all of which Lance was too nervous to bring up.

But it was probably for the best, right? It wasn't like there was anything to talk about. It had just been a momentary slip of judgement, and now they were going to go their separate ways pretty soon and never see each other again. So, it didn't matter. 

Yet, Lance's traitorous mind kept returning to that moment where he'd wrapped his arm around Keith, when he'd seen the charming little smirk on Keith's face and the way his wet hair had been clinging to the sides of his face, and ... it was like his mind had completely blanked out then. He'd kissed Keith without even thinking about it, like it had been as natural as breathing. And now he couldn't chase away the phantom sensation of it, the tentative and then desperate movement of Keith's lips against his that he wished he could feel again. 

He got so caught up in thinking about it that he almost missed the turn he was supposed to take. At the last second, he gripped onto the steering wheel and took a sharp left onto his street, before pulling up in front of his apartment and turning the engine off. 

The street was empty and silent. 

Lance cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. "So ... I was thinking if you just wanna go inside for a minute, I could maybe lend you some dry clothes? And then, if you need to go after that ..." 

He trailed off, feeling like the words had been choked out of him.

"I ... yeah." Keith drummed his fingers against his knees. "That sounds good." 

"Okay, cool," Lance said, maybe a bit too eagerly, and he hoped that it was too dark for Keith to notice the way he winced at his own words. "We should probably ..." He gestured out the window, then unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door. 

By the time he sidled around to the passenger side, Keith had already gotten out and closed the door behind him. He stood on the sidewalk with his hands shoved into the pockets and his shoulders hunched. He looked a bit like a sad, wet cat, and Lance wished he could put an arm around Keith right now and help him warm up, but ... after what had happened earlier, that was probably a bad idea. 

Lance forced his gaze downward as he moved up the front steps of the building and took out his keycard. As he fished into his pocket he felt the hard outline of his phone, and inwardly groaned at the realization that it was probably dead now thanks to his unplanned dip into the canal. But ... well, he had other things he needed to focus on right now. 

Keith followed silently after him as Lance led their way up the stairs and to his apartment door. Lance almost laughed at the sense of déjà vu that came over him, as he thought about how similar this was to when he'd brought Keith to his apartment the night before. At least Keith was sober this time and not practically falling over. It felt strange that it had been less than twenty-four hours since then. 

As they walked through the door, Lance flicked on the light and tossed his keys on the nearby table. Again, he mentally kicked himself for his apartment being a bit messy.

Plastering a smile onto his face, he turned around. "So ... I can grab you some clothes. Oh, and if you want to use the shower and wash some of that nasty canal water, I can lend you a towel." 

"Oh ... yeah," Keith said, gaze shying towards the floor. "That'd be great, actually." 

Lance waited for a second, like he expected Keith to say something else. When only an awkward silence followed, he turned around again and started walking towards his dresser. "Sure, no problem. Just gimme a sec ..." 

A minute later, after he'd fumbled around to find something suitable, Lance returned with a small folded pile of clothing and a towel and handed them to Keith. 

"Thanks." Keith held the items to his chest and looked up briefly, his ears turning a little pink, before he skirted around Lance and headed towards the bathroom. "I'll ... I won't be too long." 

"It's okay, take your time," Lance called after him, but by then the bathroom door was already clicking shut behind Keith. 

A heavy silence followed, interrupted by only the whirring of the fan in the window and the faint scuffling noises of Keith moving around in the bathroom.

After just staring blankly at the closed door for a few seconds, Lance let out a deep sigh and smacked a hand to his forehead. God, this was a mess. Of all the things to royally screw up ... _Haha, "royally." Good one._

Wincing, Lance let his hand drop to his side again and looked down at his soaking wet suit. It was still clinging to his body and starting to get very uncomfortable and itchy, and he figured now was probably a good time for him to change into some new clothes, too. 

He was running a bit low on clean laundry, but managed to find a gray T-shirt and jeans that seemed like a good enough choice. After quickly changing and tossing his suit aside, he scrambled around the apartment for a minute to at least tidy up a _little_ bit, then headed for the small kitchen.

At this point it had been hours since they'd eaten lunch, and Lance's stomach reminded him with an annoyed growl. Keith would probably be getting hungry at this point too, and Lance thought that probably the polite thing to do would be to prepare food of some kind. He opened the fridge and cringed at its meager contents, but discovered he at least had the materials to make some grilled cheese sandwiches and decided to go with that. 

As he warmed up the pan, he set his phone—which, unsurprisingly, seemed to be waterlogged and unable to turn on—into a bowl of rice and prayed for the best. He anxiously tapped his fingers against the side of the kitchen counter as he started to worry about Hunk and Shay. It pained him that he couldn't call them to make sure they'd made it out okay, but he also knew they were both smart and very capable of defending themselves. All he could do for now was hope his phone would make a miraculous recovery and that he could get in touch with them later. 

He was pulled from the train of thought by the sound of the shower running in the bathroom nearby—and tried really hard not to think about the fact that Keith was showering in his apartment right now. Trying to distract himself from _that_ thought, he reached across the counter to turn on the radio.

A familiar old pop song was playing, and Lance hummed along quietly as he set the sandwiches in the pan and grabbed a spatula from a nearby drawer. At least for now, he was able to lose himself in the tinny sound of the music and the quiet sizzling from the frying pan.

But the sense of normalcy was soon interrupted by the sound of the shower turning off. Lance paused, but kept his gaze fixed downward at the stovetop, flipping the sandwiches over one more time. He was just reaching a couple of plates down from the cupboard when he heard the creak of the bathroom door opening and the hesitant padding of feet against the floor. Lance set the plates down on the counter, internally bracing himself before he turned around with a smile. 

Keith had appeared next to the fridge, a few feet away, like he was afraid to come any closer. He had changed into the T-shirt and jeans Lance had lent to him, and was clutching his previous wet clothes to his chest. "Hey," he said. It came out a bit hoarse, and he cleared his throat. "What should I do with the, uh ..." He held the wet bundle of clothing in front of him. 

It took Lance a second to process what he was asking, and then remembered that the damp clothes—excluding Keith's red jacket, of course—were his, too. "Oh. Right, you can just ... There's a hamper near my dresser, if you just wanna throw 'em in there. And you can leave your jacket out to dry somewhere for a few minutes, if you want." 

"Okay, thanks." Keith backed out of the kitchen. 

While he was putting the wet clothes away, Lance turned his attention to the sandwiches—just in time, as it smelled like they were on the verge of burning—and moved them onto the plates. By the time he had turned around, Keith had returned to his spot next to the fridge. 

Lance knew he shouldn't stare, but he felt a little like someone had hit him over the head. Before he could stop himself, he looked Keith up and down. 

Keith's hair was damp from the shower, and Lance's T-shirt hung somewhat loosely on his frame ... enough that a small hint of his collarbone was exposed, and Lance used every ounce of his will power not to fixate on it. Even in such plain clothes and in the dim kitchen light, he managed to look so good that it made Lance feel weak in the knees. 

It didn't help that everything about the scene felt painfully domestic—Keith having just stepped out of the shower, Keith wearing Lance's clothes, Lance making food for both of them while the radio played quietly in the background. 

For just a moment, Lance slipped into a fantasy where they had met under normal circumstances—an alternate reality where they were a happy couple enjoying a quiet evening at home. A reality where it would be perfectly acceptable for Lance to walk across the room right now and loop his arms around Keith's waist, to bury his face in Keith's hair ... and then maybe hoist him up onto the kitchen counter and kiss the life out of him.

He realized he had been gawking for far too long now. Although he hadn't voiced any of his thoughts out loud, some semblance of it must have been written all over his face, based on the way Keith was blushing. 

"What is it?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest—although he sounded more teasing than actually upset. 

"Nothing, I just ..." Lance let out a low, nervous chuckle as he scratched the side of his neck. "I think my clothes suit you pretty well, that's all."

Somehow, that had sounded way more casual in his head—but as soon as it left his mouth, he realized how flirtatious it had sounded. 

By some miracle, though, Keith didn't seem offended. He only raised his eyebrows a little, before he smirked and fiddled with the hem of the shirt. "You think so?" he said. "Maybe I should wear them all the time, then." 

Lance had already felt like he was about to fall over, but that unexpected line just about swept the ground out from underneath him. He somehow managed to stay upright, although he was sure the shock must have shown on his face. But he did his best to quickly cover it up, schooling his expression back to something neutral. As tempting as it was, he knew he couldn't let this—whatever _this_ was, exactly—happen right now. 

He turned around again, trying to ignore the heat that had risen to his face, as he picked up one of the plates from the counter. "Well ..." He held it out towards Keith. "Here, I thought you might be hungry."

Keith glanced down at the sandwich and then back up at Lance again, as if he expected there to be some hidden meaning in the gesture. His teasing smirk faded, and something that looked suspiciously like disappointment flashed across his eyes. But he seemed to recover quickly, taking the plate from Lance's hands with a polite smile. "Thanks."

Apparently Keith was just as hungry as Lance had suspected, judging by the way he immediately dug into the sandwich. Like just about everything Keith did, something about it was unfairly endearing, and it made Lance wonder if princes usually got to eat grilled cheese sandwiches—or whether they only ate caviar or something. He tried to push the thought from his mind as he ate his own food, staring down at the kitchen floor and listening to the faint music still coming from the nearby radio. 

Within a couple minutes they had both finished eating. Lance started to rinse off his plate in the sink, and heard hesitant footsteps coming up behind him before he felt something brush against his arm. When he looked up, he found Keith was standing right next to him, reaching out to also stick his plate under the stream of water. 

"Oh, you don't have to—I've got it," Lance stammered, clumsily taking the plate from Keith's hands and almost dropping it in the process. 

"Are you sure? I don't mind—"

"No, no. What kinda host would I be if I made you do dishes?" 

Lance shot a fleeting smile in Keith's direction, which Keith returned warmly, and ... oh, no. Lance was suddenly aware of their close proximity, how their shoulders were practically pressed together. He hastily took a small step away, reaching for the faucet to turn the water off. 

He still didn’t dare to look up as he dried his hands on one of the nearby dish towels. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see Keith standing there and staring at him, but he wasn’t saying a word. 

The silence between them stretched out for an uncomfortably long time. Lance drummed his fingers against the edge of the counter, searching his brain for something to say—anything at all to somehow distill the awkwardness. Next to him, Keith took a deep breath like he was about to speak—

“ _This is an update coming to you from Daybreak News in Altea._ ”

Keith and Lance both looked over at the radio in alarm, as the music was cut off abruptly by the staticky sound of an announcer’s voice.

“ _There has been no further word from the Castle of Lions, where the Galran prince Akira Kogane has taken ill as of early this morning, on the last leg of the two princes’ goodwill tour around the Iodrelan peninsula._ ”

Lance went tense, trying not to show any sign that anything was out of the ordinary. But at the same time, he noticed how Keith stiffened and took a step towards the radio as if in a trance.

“ _This has led to rumors that the prince’s condition has possibly gotten worse, which has led to widespread concern across his home country of Daibazaal—”_

The rest of the announcement was inaudible, as Keith had reached for the dial and turned the volume all the way down. He just stood there for a few lingering seconds, facing away from Lance, shoulders rising and falling as he took a deep breath. 

When he turned around once more, his face had gone pale. He closed his eyes and opened them again. "Lance ..." Although he spoke quietly, it disrupted the silence in a way that felt strangely devastating. "Listen. There's something about me you don't know." 

Lance's heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his mouth felt dry when he tried to speak—but then he didn't know what to say, or even what emotion to display on his face. Shock? Confusion? He hoped he just looked and sounded mildly curious as he managed to ask, "What is it?" 

Keith didn't answer, leaning back against the counter and running a hand through his hair. Lance could see the conflicting emotions flickering across his eyes, as Keith studied the kitchen floor and let out a short sigh. 

"I don't think I can tell you," he said at last. "And it's not because I don't want to, or because it's something bad, it's just ... I wanted you to know that I wish it didn't have to be like this. I wish I could stay, but—but I—" 

"But you have to go," Lance finished the sentence for him. It came out as more of a statement than a question.

Keith winced as if the words physically pained him. Then, slowly, he nodded. 

A tight knot had formed in Lance's chest, and it only seemed to get worse as he drew in a long breath and released it. There were so many things he wanted to say right now, but the only thing that made it out was, "Am I ever going to see you again?"

He hadn't meant for it to come out so quiet, so vulnerable, but it was too late to take it back. And now it just hung in the air between them, like a glass barrier that was in danger of shattering at any moment. 

When Keith finally answered, it came out hoarsely. “I don’t know,” he said. “I—I don’t think so.” 

Even though Lance had expected the answer, it still felt like the air had been choked from his lungs. All he could do was stand there helplessly, wishing there was something he could do to change this scenario but knowing there was nothing.

There was a change in the air then, the invisible barrier crumbling. And before Lance knew what was happening, Keith was pushing himself away from the counter and moving towards him.

Lance met him halfway, throwing his arms around Keith's waist, and Keith returned the embrace with equal force. They stood that way for several long moments, completely still, as if carved out of stone. Then Keith let out a shuddering breath, some of the tension leaving his body as he buried his face against Lance's shoulder.

Tears blurred the outline of Lance's vision and he let his eyes drift shut. He rested his cheek against the top of Keith's head, just holding him as he listened to Keith's shaky inhales and exhales. He couldn't help but think that it felt like a more somber version of when they'd slow-danced together on the barge. Except this time, there were no stars above them or a gentle song to sway to—just the empty kitchen and the droning buzz of the fluorescent light hanging above them.

Without even thinking about it, Lance turned his face so his forehead pressed against Keith's hair, which was still damp from the shower. He drew in a slow breath, then planted a hesitant kiss on top of Keith's head. 

The rational part of his mind immediately blared with alarms, reminding him that this was a terrible idea—he had already made an irreversible mistake by kissing Keith under the bridge, and he couldn't make that mistake again. But he also couldn't resist the way every nerve in his body seemed to light up when Keith shifted against him, then lifted his head to look up at Lance with pupils wide and dark—his expression dangerously open, inviting, and Lance found himself leaning towards him before he could stop himself. 

He brushed his lips against Keith's cheekbone, heard his small intake of breath, saw the way Keith's eyes had fluttered closed when he pulled back a few inches. His heart was beating so hard it almost hurt, but he leaned in again, this time to press a soft kiss to the side of Keith's neck. He felt Keith go tense in his arms and Lance started to pull away—but then Keith's hands were clenching in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him forward. And Lance gave in, trailing a few more kisses up Keith's throat, behind his ear, along the curve of his jaw. He could hear Keith's breathing grow increasingly shallow in response, and started to press a kiss against the corner of Keith's mouth …

He stopped. 

An icy sense of wrongness had washed over him, and he couldn't seem to get himself to move. He didn't remember when his eyes had closed but they drifted open again, meeting the stark kitchen light. Keith let out a small whine of protest, turning his face so that the tips of their noses brushed and his breath fluttered against Lance's mouth. 

But Lance was already pulling away. 

"Keith," he said, like he was trying to wake Keith up from a dream.

It seemed to take its effect. Keith's eyes blinked open, their dazed gleam fading away in an instant. He studied Lance's face, a slight furrow of concern forming in his brow. His arms were still looped around Lance's neck but now he rested his hands on Lance's shoulders, maintaining the small distance between them. 

“What is it?” 

It was a simple enough question, one that shouldn't have carried so much weight—but Lance could detect the small note of worry underneath it, like Keith thought he had done something wrong. 

"I'm sorry," Lance said, his arms loosening from around Keith's waist. "It's not that I don't want to ..." His train of thought had broken off under the intensity of Keith's gaze, the questioning look in his dark eyes, the faint flush that lingered on his face. _Damn it._ Lance wanted to kiss him so, so badly. 

"Hey." Keith's voice was quiet but firm, grounding. His hands were gentle as they slid down from Lance's shoulders to rest against his chest, where his heart was still beating madly. "It's okay. I didn't mean to—"

"No, no. It's not anything you did, it's ..." Lance's breath left him in a short, frustrated sigh. He reached up to wrap his hands around Keith's wrists, but then didn't have the heart to push him away—only to let his fingers linger there, squeezing lightly. 

"Listen … You know how you said there's something I don't know about you? Well, there's something you don't know about me, too."

Keith's eyes widened a fraction, but he didn't back away. "Lance ..." 

"I swear I was going to tell you sooner, but it just never seemed like a good time, and I didn't want to mess things up or—" 

"Lance." Keith said it with more insistence this time, his fingers clenching in the front of Lance's shirt, which immediately shut him up. "Seriously. You don't have to." When Lance just stared back at him, he went on, "I didn't tell you my secret, so you don't have to tell me yours. It's only fair." 

Lance bit his lip to hold back a protest. Because it _wasn't_ fair. It wasn't fair that Lance had known what Keith's secret was all along, and had tried to take advantage of him, and Keith had no idea. But as horrible as he felt for withholding the truth, he saw the pleading look in Keith's eyes and knew this was the way Keith wanted it to be. 

"I just ..." Keith hesitated, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly as he swallowed. His fingers uncurled from the fabric of Lance's shirt but still lingered there like he wasn't sure what else to do with them. "I don't want to ruin it," he said. This time his voice cracked a little, like it was close to breaking. "I know it probably doesn't make sense, but ... I want to remember it just like this, okay?" 

Lance could feel a hard shell forming around his heart, one he was desperately trying not to let crumble away. "Okay," he said softly. 

It took a moment for Keith to react, and then his mouth twitched upward in a shaky but relieved smile. Even though he didn't thank Lance out loud, the gratitude was written plainly all over his features, and in the way his wrists relaxed slightly in Lance’s grip. 

Oh ... right. Lance had almost forgotten he was still holding onto Keith, and now he let go and let his hands drop to his sides again. Keith's smile faded, as he pulled his hands away from Lance's chest at the same time. 

The invisible wall seemed to have gone up between them again. More than ever, Lance wished he had the courage to break through it, but he knew it would probably only make things harder than they already were.

"So," he said, trying with all his might to ignore the longing ache in his chest. "How are you going to get home?"

Apparently Keith hadn't thought that over, judging by the alarmed look on his face. He looked away, scratching behind his ear. "Oh ... I don't know. I guess I could take a cab, or ..." 

"I can drive you," Lance said before he could stop himself. 

Keith looked at him again, an indiscernible look in his eyes; Lance couldn't tell whether he was horrified by the idea or just surprised at the offer. Or both. 

"Are you sure? You really don't have to ..." 

"Hey, it's no problem," Lance said—but then realizing that Keith was probably afraid of blowing his cover, he added, "Or, you know, if you only need me to drive you part of the way, that's fine too." 

Keith's posture relaxed. He gave a short nod. "Yeah ... okay," he said, and offered a small smile of thanks. "That sounds good." 

"Yeah?" Lance returned the smile, and tried not to pay attention to the way his heart skipped a beat at the thought of getting to be with Keith for at least a little bit longer. He sobered again, his gaze trailing to the floor as he rubbed at the side of his arm. "Then we should probably get going, huh? It's pretty late."

The last trace of a smile faded from Keith's face. "Right," he said, looking away. "Guess I should, uh ... get my stuff." He gestured towards where his damp jacket was hanging from the bedpost, alongside his folded clothing that he had been wearing the night before. 

"Sure, of course," Lance stammered. "Just let me know when you're ready to go." 

Keith didn't move yet, as if he'd been rooted to the spot. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then closed it again and gave a silent nod. With that, he turned away and went to gather his things. 

  


* * *

  


The drive was painfully quiet. Besides Keith explaining the approximate area he wanted to be dropped off, neither of them had said much since they'd gotten into the car. 

Lance's mind kept weaving in confusing, conflicting directions—not unlike the winding back streets they were traveling through. Somehow, each minute seemed to drag by with agonizing slowness, and yet also to pass in the blink of an eye. They were running out of time, and if Lance was going to say anything, he knew he had to say it _now_ or he would never have the chance again.

But he had also already made up his mind to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself. Even if he were to say something, what would he say? It wouldn't change the fact that they were about to part ways forever. In fact, it would probably only make things harder.

Still, it seemed like a futile battle against the words that were trying to claw their way up his throat. As the seconds dwindled away and as they neared the street corner where they would be leaving each other, Lance started to almost feel dizzy with the effort of holding it back. 

"Right here," Keith said. "This is probably where I should ..." He trailed off, like he was unable to even say it. 

Lance didn't speak, only slowed the car to a halt and turned off the engine. The street where they'd parked was almost unnaturally still and quiet, lined with silent townhouses and tall street lamps. Lance hadn't been to this part of the city much before, but he knew approximately where they were—and that the Castle of Lions stood atop a hill within a short walking distance, just out of sight beyond the surrounding buildings.

Lance unbuckled his seat belt and started to reach for the door handle ... but he was stopped by a light touch on his arm. He turned, blinking, to find that Keith was staring at him with sudden intensity, his face just barely illuminated by the pale glow of the street lamp next to the car.

After a short pause, he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. "I think ... I think I should probably go alone from here." 

The words made Lance's heart sink like a stone. He wanted to protest, wanted to at least step outside even if it meant he'd just stand at the street corner while Keith walked away. But as much as he hated the idea of sitting here in the car while Keith left, he also knew it was probably for the best. 

"Okay." He'd intended for it to sound casual and understanding ... but he could hear how hoarse his own voice came out. 

Keith kept his hand on Lance's forearm, staring down at it and absently running a thumb back and forth across the fabric of Lance's jacket like he didn't even realize he was doing it. "Just ... promise you won't try to follow me." 

"I won't."

Keith was silent, his hand stilling on Lance's arm, before he drew it away again. He still didn't make eye contact as he drew in a long breath. 

"You know ... when I got here, to Altea, I never expected anything like this to happen," he said at last. "Or that I'd meet someone like you." 

Lance stared at him. Part of Keith's face was brightened by the stripe of light filtering through the windshield, while the other half was in shadow. But even in the dimness, Lance tried to observe and memorize every feature. 

He wanted to say something meaningful in return—that he'd never expected this either, that he'd never met someone like Keith and doubted he ever would again ... and not just because Keith was a prince. But the words remained lodged in his throat, none of them feeling significant enough.

Finally, Keith lifted his gaze to meet Lance's—and now Lance could see his eyes were shining. 

"I just want you to know that today was one of the best days of my life," Keith continued, his voice shaking. "And I don’t ... I don't know how to say goodbye. I can't even think of any words." 

They were still looking right into each other's eyes—and maybe Lance was imagining things, but he was pretty sure there was less distance between them than there'd been before, like they had both unconsciously leaned forward.

"Then, don't try," Lance said. 

They both surged forward at once, lips colliding in the middle. 

This time there was no hesitation to it, no holding anything back. Lance kissed Keith the way he'd wanted to before they'd been interrupted under the bridge, kissed him the way he'd stopped himself from doing when they'd been standing in the faint glow of his kitchen. 

It was a little rushed at first, the release of a pent-up longing that resulted in rough and frantic movements—Keith leaning into the kiss so quickly that Lance's head almost knocked back against the car window, Lance's hand reaching for Keith in the dimness and grabbing at his shirt collar a little too tightly. 

But it wasn't long before they eased into a slower, gentler pace. Lance's hands moved upward to rest against either side of Keith's jaw, angling his head until their mouths slotted together. Keith made a faint murmuring noise in response, one hand pressing against the back of Lance's neck. It could have lasted for minutes or for hours, Lance had no idea. He was too lost to every sensation—the languid but passionate glide of their lips, the occasional and exhilarating brush of Keith's tongue against his, the slight movements of Keith's jaw beneath his fingers. 

When they finally stopped, Lance felt as if he hadn't breathed the whole time—maybe he hadn't. They still didn't move away from each other, foreheads resting together as they panted quietly into the stillness. 

Then, at last, Keith pulled back. His hand slid away from the back of Lance's neck, leaving only a phantom tingling behind. Lance could already feel the absence of his touch and wanted nothing more than to chase after it—but knew he couldn't do it, knew they already should have parted ways by now.

He could see that Keith's eyes were glimmering in the dimness, which only made him more aware of the stinging sensation in his own eyes that he was desperately trying to fight back. For a moment, Keith looked like there was something else that he wanted to say. Instead he only let out a short sigh before leaning in to leave one more chaste kiss against Lance's lips. 

He didn't say goodbye. But Lance could feel it in that final, gentle brush before Keith pulled away again. He could see it in Keith's teary eyes right before he turned away and opened the car door.

Every part of Lance ached to go after him, to call out, to do _something_ —but as the car door closed with a solid thud, it felt like the period at the end of a sentence.

Lance knew it was over. 

But that didn't stop him from staying there, watching as Keith walked down the empty road, moving in and out of the patches of light cast by the street lamps. He didn't move, until long after Keith had already turned around the corner and had disappeared from sight. 

He hadn't looked back even once.

  


* * *

  


As soon as Keith set foot near the castle grounds, he was swarmed by guards. He barely registered what was happening besides that he was surrounded by people—there were hands gripping his arms, voices demanding if he was alright, the staticky sound of conversations via walkie-talkies. 

Before he knew it he was being escorted down a long hallway, flanked on all sides by security. Although no one was _forcing_ him to walk forward, there was a firm hand against his shoulder that he didn't have the energy to fight against.

Normally he might have protested more, but right now he felt like all the life had been drained out of him. All he could do was glare down at the marble floor passing underneath them, and listen to the noisy scuffle of footsteps echoing off the walls—anything to distract himself from the empty ache in his chest, from the thought that he'd left Lance behind without even saying goodbye. 

Soon, he was led towards a set of tall wooden doors. Someone took the bundle of clothes Keith had been carrying out of his hands, and when he protested he was told he would get them back. He might have argued further, but right then two guards stepped forward to open the doors for him and he was ushered inside.

It appeared to be a conference room, with a long table running along its center and tall windows lining the wall. Even before Keith fully processed the sight of all the people in the room, the tension in the air was almost palpable—a serious silence interrupted only by low mutters.

Most of the people in the room were strangers Keith had never seen—but his eyes were drawn to the familiar figures in the corner across from him. Alfor and Allura were standing near the window, voices lowered in what looked to be a serious discussion. Shiro sat at the table, bent over and rubbing at his temples. 

Allura was the first to look up, and she gasped and held a fist anxiously to her chest. "Keith?" 

Her outburst caught the attention of everyone else, who looked up in alarm. Keith only stared down at the floor, his face heating up at the sudden attention. Everything had gone deathly silent, before at last he heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see Shiro had stood up and was walking towards him at a cautious pace as if Keith was a cornered animal. 

He still couldn't look up, even when Shiro was standing right in front of him. 

"Keith?" It was difficult to decipher the tone in his brother's voice, ranging somewhere between concern and incredulity. "Hey. Look at me." He put a solid hand on Keith's shoulder, squeezing gently. Even though his tone had been firm, there was a slight wavering note to it that caught Keith's attention. 

Slowly, he looked up. 

Right away, he could see all the signs of distress on Shiro's face—the dark circles under his eyes, the furrow in his brow. Although they had last seen each other the night before, it looked like he hadn't slept for a week. He looked Keith up and down as if searching for any sign of injury, and his frown deepened as he took in Keith's appearance—his unfamiliar clothes and damp hair. 

"Are you okay?" he finally asked, breaking the tense silence. "What happened? Where the hell were you?"

Each question tumbled out of him with increasing urgency, choked with emotion, and it almost made Keith flinch. 

Somehow, he managed to maintain his composure as he let out a short sigh and shrugged Shiro's hand off his shoulder. "I'm fine. And I was ... nowhere. Just wandering around the city. That's it."

He hated lying—or, well, he supposed it was just holding back some of the truth. But he couldn't admit to Shiro everything that had happened, especially not when there was about a dozen people gathered around them. 

As soon as the words left his mouth, though, he knew it had been a poor choice. He could see the way Shiro's expression darkened, the worry in his eyes giving way to something harsh and cold. 

"You were _nowhere_? Are you serious?"

When Keith still said nothing, Shiro went on, "You left without saying anything, Keith. We didn't know whether you'd run away or been kidnapped or—or worse. We had to send the Blade of Marmora to go looking for you, for God's sake. Then we finally hear from Kolivan that you were found at some boat party and got in a fight with several of his men before running off again ... And now you don't even have an explanation?" 

Keith winced at the way Shiro's voice had risen. His hands had started shaking, and he curled them into fists at his sides.

He tried not to think about everyone else in the room watching and listening, as he looked Shiro defiantly in the eye. "No," he said. "I don't." 

That seemed to shock his brother into total silence, long enough for Keith to continue, "I don't know what I was thinking, okay? I just—I felt trapped, and I had to get out." He stopped himself, realizing he had probably offended Alfor and Allura by saying something like that, but at this point he was too exhausted to care. "And the Blade members ... I had no idea who they were. You thought you could send a bunch of terrifying secret agents after me and expected me not to try and defend myself?" 

He wasn't sure when his calm façade had started to drop, and the fury had started to seep through. But he could hear the sharp and accusatory edge to his voice, could see the way it caused Shiro's eyes to flash with some indiscernible emotion. 

"That's not—" Shiro started to say, then stopped and glanced over his shoulder like there was something he was afraid to say in front of everyone else. He let out a deep sigh. "Listen. I just want to know the truth."

"That _is_ the truth. I made a stupid decision, that’s it. I'm back now, so why does it matter?" 

Keith knew he wasn't being fair, knew that dodging Shiro's questions was probably going to worsen the situation. But all he could think about right now was that he wanted to be out of this room, to escape from all the scrutinizing gazes boring into him from all directions. 

A muscle twitched in Shiro's jaw like he was trying to hold something back, before he released a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“You know it’s not that simple, Keith. Our parents have been worried to death all day. They were literally considering dropping everything and traveling all the way here because they thought something horrible might’ve happened. What do you expect me to tell them?”

Keith’s gaze trailed towards the floor again. He had known, of course, that the queen and king would be notified of the whole situation—but he hated to think he made them worry. He hated to think he had made _anyone_ worry ... but it was clear that was exactly what he had done. 

"I don't know," he said at last, all of the fight leaving him at once. He was so, so tired. "Just tell them I messed up, I guess. It won't happen again." 

He couldn't stand to be in this room anymore. It felt like he was some specimen being observed under a microscope, and it was making his skin crawl. Without another word, he turned on his heel and started to push past the guards and out of the room.

"Keith, wait—" Shiro tried to call after him. 

But by then, Keith had already shouldered his way through the crowd and back out into the corridor.

Everyone seemed to sense that he wanted to be left alone, judging by the way they all stepped aside for him. Normally, he would have uttered an "excuse me" or a "thank you", but right now he was so blinded with his own emotional turmoil that he didn't trust himself to speak. All he could do was blindly navigate his way down the maze of unfamiliar hallways, not really knowing where he was going but needing to find an escape.

Somehow, he managed to find his way through the large dining hall and through a set of tall doors that led outside. He realized he had wandered out into the same courtyard where he'd walked with Allura the night before. But now, there was no soft music playing or any laughter in the air—just the pressing silence interrupted only by the wind in the trees, the empty winding pathways, a fountain bubbling quietly in the near distance. 

Keith made his way over to a nearby bench and sat down heavily. Up until then, he'd felt as if his breath was trapped in his lungs, and he finally released it in a shuddering breath that was almost a sob. His vision went hazy as he bent over, holding his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut like it would somehow hide him from the entire world. All that he could think about was how badly he had messed up—he had messed up _everything_ —and now he had no idea how he was going to face the consequences. 

Everything kept racing around inside his head like a whirlwind, until he had no idea how much time had passed. He was only pulled back to reality again when he heard the quiet creak of a door swinging open behind him. 

Immediately, Keith sat up and turned to look over his shoulder, expecting to see one of the royal guards or someone of that nature—but instead, it was Shiro's familiar silhouette in the doorway. 

Not sure whether to feel relief or dread, he turned around again and lowered his head as if that would somehow prevent Shiro from seeing him. But he could already hear the cautious shuffle of Shiro's footsteps across the ground, could see his shadow appear next to the bench. 

"Is it okay if I sit here?" he asked. When Keith didn't even look up he added, "I promise I'm not here to lecture you."

Keith hesitated, but finally decided to give his brother the benefit of the doubt. "Fine." 

Shiro inched forward and then lowered himself on the bench next to Keith, maintaining about a foot of distance between them. Neither of them spoke for a long time, facing the moonlit garden. The juniberries bobbed in the breeze, and petals flitted over the paths. 

At last, Shiro let out a long sigh and rubbed his hands over his knees. "Listen ... it's okay if you don't want to tell me where you were," he said. Each word was patient and careful, like he was afraid that one misstep would send Keith running off again. "You're an adult, and I trust you to make your own decisions. So if you don't want to tell me, that's your choice, and I respect that. And I guess everyone—Alfor, our parents, whoever else—will just need to accept that, too." 

That hadn't been what Keith was expecting to hear. Surprised, he finally raised his head and turned to look at Shiro—who was still facing forward. 

"There's just one thing I want to know," he went on. "And again, it's not like I can force you to answer, so it's okay if you don't want to. But ..." He paused, running his fingers through the white tuft in his hair. "Was it because of me?"

He finally looked over to meet Keith's gaze, and Keith saw something anxious and vulnerable in his brother's eyes that had been the last thing he expected to see. All he could do was stare back at Shiro, stunned. 

"What do you mean?" was all he could manage to say. 

"The reason you ran away," Shiro said. "Was it because of me?" 

Keith was caught off-guard by the question, and he couldn't seem to answer. His mind scrambled to come up with a response, but it was difficult when he was still struggling to comprehend why Shiro would even think such a thing. 

"I know I've been putting a lot of pressure on you lately," Shiro kept going, when Keith's shocked silence had stretched out for too long. "And I knew you didn't want to do the press conference, but I was going to make you do it anyway. I'm sorry, I should've listened to you. I—"

"Shiro, stop," Keith cut him off. A sick sense of guilt had suddenly overcome him. He had known of course that Shiro would be worried about him, but he hadn't really stopped to consider that Shiro would spend the whole day blaming himself for Keith's disappearance. "That's really what you thought? That I ran away because we had an argument?" 

"Well ..." Shiro adjusted the wrist on his prosthetic arm slightly. "Yeah, that's kinda what I thought." 

Keith huffed out a breath, in what was almost a disbelieving laugh. "That's not the reason why." 

Shiro blinked, his shoulders relaxing. "It's not?" 

"No. It was ..." Keith hesitated, nervously rubbing his thumb against his index finger as he tried to decide on the best way to explain. "I don't know. Something just came over me, I guess. Yes, I was nervous about the press conference, but that's not your fault. You didn't _make_ me do anything.

“It was more just that I felt so ... stuck, like I couldn't go out and do things on my own. Like everything was planned out for me, and I couldn't escape from it.”

He trailed off, chewing his lower lip. A few long seconds passed before he went on carefully, "But it wasn't because I was angry at you. I was just ... scared, I guess. Scared of messing the whole thing up. Or that I'd have to get up there and pretend to be someone I'm not."

Keith might have expected to feel more embarrassed to admit his fears so bluntly. But as soon as he'd spoken the words, he felt as if an enormous weight had slid from his shoulders. Now that he'd said it, it released a whole stream of things he'd been holding back. 

"It's never come naturally to me—being in the spotlight, giving inspiring speeches or whatever. That's _your_ thing. I can't see myself ever being good at that." 

Shiro didn't answer right away, seeming to contemplate everything Keith had just said before he spoke. 

"Firstly," he said at last, "it doesn't all come naturally to me, either. Trust me, making big speeches and all that ... it makes me nervous, too." Keith must have looked skeptical, because Shiro chuckled before he continued, "Really, I mean it. I guess I'm used to it by now, so I've gotten good at hiding it. It doesn't mean it's not intimidating. 

"But also, you don't have to hide who you are in front of everyone. I'm not saying you have to give speeches all the time if you hate it. But if that's what's stopping you, I'm just saying ... it doesn't have to be that way. People appreciate honesty, you know." 

Although the thought of standing up and speaking in front of a large crowd still made Keith feel sick to his stomach, something about hearing those words was unexpectedly comforting. He'd spent so long thinking that Shiro could just get up in front of a sea of people and put on a confident façade like it was nothing. So there was something reassuring in knowing that his brother had his own anxieties to deal with, and that also he was still being himself when he was speaking to the public. 

"Thanks, Shiro," Keith managed to say at last. "Seriously. That ... that's good to know." 

Shiro smiled back at him, reaching out a hand to grasp him by the shoulder. "Hey, it's no problem." 

They fell into a short silence again—but this time it felt more amicable, unlike the tense silence that had fallen between them before. 

Then Keith felt his smile start to fade. He leaned forward again, propping his elbows on his knees as he wrung his hands together. "Listen, there's something else I wanted to tell you about. Something I didn't want to say in front of all those people back there."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shiro sit up a bit straighter. He didn't say anything, just waited patiently for Keith to continue.

"I ..." Keith started to say, then stopped and let out a short sigh. "I wasn't lying when I said I spent the whole day exploring the city. But, the thing is ... I wasn't alone. I—I met someone." 

He waited a second for those words to sink in—and he could tell when they had, by the way Shiro shifted a little and leaned back against the bench. "Oh?" He was obviously trying to make it sound casual, but Keith knew Shiro well enough to detect the nosy curiosity in the single syllable. 

Keith's face was already growing warm, but he gathered the courage to continue. "I didn't even tell him who I really was, but we spent the whole day together. He showed me everything—the shops, the museum, the gardens, the historical sites. 

"And it just made me realize that I've never had a chance to do something like that before. To just—I don't know, wander around and sightsee, to feel like I could just be myself around someone I'd never met before. It was all so amazing. _He_ was—"

Keith cut himself off, realizing he had probably said too much at once. His humiliation only deepened when he glanced up and saw that Shiro was giving him a knowing look, his mouth turning up in a teasing smirk.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, nothing," Shiro said, with the falsest note of innocence Keith has ever heard. "It just sounds like you really liked this guy, that's all."

Keith's instinct was to protest—but as soon as he opened his mouth to argue, he immediately shut it again. His shoulders sagged, the air leaving him in a defeated sigh.

"Yeah," he said at last, hardly even caring when his voice cracked a little. "I did."

He stared down at the cobblestone path a few feet in front of them, praying it was too dark for Shiro to see the tears that had started to prick at his eyes.

Seconds passed, and neither of them said anything. Then at last, Shiro inched a bit closer and put a hand against Keith's back.

"What's wrong?" he asked, all sense of mirth disappearing from his tone. "Did something bad happen?"

There was a hint of something almost angry underneath it, like he was prepared to fight anyone who had hurt his brother's feelings. The familiar sense of comfort made some of the tension ease from Keith's body. Shiro had always looked out for him, and Keith seemed to have forgotten that recently.

"No," he answered. "Don't worry, nothing bad happened. Just ..." _Just that I had to say goodbye to him._

Keith bit his lower lip as he struggled to put his confusing knot of emotions into words. "It's just hard, because ... because I'd never connected with someone that way before. It made me forget for a while who I really am, but then it just ... hit me. That I can never have that. I can't just be with whoever I want and it just ..."

He couldn't even think how to describe the depth of the emotion, the pain of it. He curled his hands, fingernails digging into his palms.

Shiro didn't answer right away. Then, very calmly, he asked, "What makes you think that?"

Keith looked up at him. He tried to come up with something coherent to say, but all he could manage was a perplexed, "Huh?"

"What makes you think you can't be with whoever you want?" Shiro said, frowning.

"Because ..." Keith started to say, and then didn't know how to continue. He thought at the most Shiro would just empathize with his struggle, not that he would question it. "You know how it is. I—I'm a prince. I have all these responsibilities and duties and I'm traveling around all the time. And he never even found out who I am. It could never work out."

Even as he spoke the words, he struggled to articulate _why_ exactly it was impossible—especially when Shiro was still looking at him like he was crazy. 

"Keith," Shiro said at last, the furrow fading from his brow again. "Listen ... I know exactly how that feels."

"You do?"

"Of course. How do you think I felt when I met Adam?"

_Oh, right._ It probably should have occurred to Keith that his brother had been in a similar situation before, but still ... "That—That's different," he stammered.

Shiro let out a soft chuckle. "How is it different? Trust me, I went through the same dilemma. Like, I meet this random pilot while traveling between countries ... my first thought is that it can never happen, right? We're both traveling around all the time. Not to mention, he's not royalty, so I was worried our parents wouldn't approve. 

"And sure, it's not like it doesn't come without some complications. But ... when it's really meant to be, things will work out in the end."

As he spoke, he looked down at the gold engagement ring on his finger, twisting it around absently as a soft smile rose to his face. 

Keith was speechless, staring at his brother's profile in the dimness. Of all the responses he had expected from Shiro, this had not been one of them. And although maybe things weren't as easy as Shiro was making them out to be ... Keith allowed a tiny hint of hope to ignite in his chest, easing the ache that had taken root there. 

"Do you really think so?" 

"I _know_ so," said Shiro, shooting a reassuring smile in Keith's direction. Then the expression sobered somewhat, and his voice was a bit quieter when he spoke again. "Of course, I don't know for certain things will work out between you and this guy. Maybe they won't. 

"But I'm just saying, you don't have to give up so easily. And you deserve to be with someone who cares about you as a person—not just because you're a prince." 

The sincerity in his words only pushed Keith closer towards the verge of tears, but he somehow managed to hold them in as he smiled back.

"Thanks, Shiro," he said quietly. And he surged forward to give his brother a hug. 

Shiro stiffened in surprise, before he threw an arm around Keith in return. A soft laugh vibrated through him as he patted Keith on the back. "Anytime." 

Keith kept his head buried against Shiro's shoulder, taking a second to get his emotions under control again before he pulled back. "Also, I'm sorry," he said, sniffling a little. "For running away. And for making you worry." 

"Hey, it's alright. I'm just glad you're safe. And I'm sorry, too ... for making you feel trapped or anything like that. Or if I was putting too much pressure on you. I promise I didn't mean to—and that I'll try to do better from now on."

"I will, too," Keith said sincerely. He rubbed the side of his neck. "Speaking of which ... I'm also sorry about missing the press conference this morning. Any chance we could reschedule that?" 

Shiro's eyes widened. "You still want to do that? 'Cause it's okay if you—" 

"No. I want to," Keith insisted. "I feel like I owe it to all of you, after what I did. But also, I ... I want to do it."

Shiro still looked surprised, but a hint of a smile showed on his face as he contemplated Keith's request. "Well, we can check and see what Alfor thinks. He kinda insisted we lie to the public that you were sick and that's why the press conference was canceled—so it might be a bit weird if you made a sudden miraculous recovery. But ..." He hesitated, scratching at his jaw in thought.

Remembering the radio announcement he'd heard in Lance's apartment, Keith winced. "Yeah, I heard about that. And I just ... I don't feel right about it. I don't want people to worry about me. I—" He took a deep breath, letting it out in a resolute sigh. "I want to tell them the truth." 

He braced himself for Shiro to protest—so he was a little shocked that the smile remained on Shiro's face, and that he gave an immediate nod of agreement. 

"I think that's the right thing to do. And very brave of you."

"I don't know about _that_." 

"No, it is. Really," Shiro insisted, before giving Keith another firm pat on the shoulder. "I'm really proud of you, Keith." 

And despite everything, those words sparked a warmth behind Keith's sternum—a sudden flickering of determination that he hadn't known he needed. He didn't know what the next day would bring ... but as he sat in the garden, under the vast banner of stars, side-by-side with his brother, the magnitude of his worries seemed to be shrinking. 

Maybe, just _maybe_ ... things were going to work out in his favor, after all.

  


* * *

  


Lance woke up feeling like his bones were made of lead. 

He barely remembered going to bed the night before, although he had a hazy recollection of the events leading up to it. After Keith had left, he'd sat in the car for a while longer as if in some blind hope that Keith would come running back around the corner. But when the street remained empty and silent, he had finally turned the engine back on and made his way back home. He'd prepared for bed, going through the motions as if in a trance—taking a shower, brushing his teeth, then finally collapsing into bed. 

He had slept fitfully, and his eyes hurt as they blinked into the golden morning light. As he eased back into full awareness, the memories from the previous day came flooding back like a series of snapshots—each one a colorful blur, following each other one after the other, until they faded to gray at the end. 

Lance threw his arm across his eyes and groaned, blocking out the light and trying to quell the deep sadness that had overtaken him. He knew it was stupid— _so_ stupid—to feel heartbroken over someone he had only known for one day, and someone who was completely unattainable at that.

And yet ... he couldn't help but remember everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. The boat ride along the canal, the echoing museum galleries, the glow of lights on the pier. He thought of Keith—the reverent wonder on his face when he was taking in the sight of something beautiful, the furrow in his brow when he was confused about something or asking a question, his little smirk when he was amused, the way a dimple appeared in his cheek when he laughed. He thought of Keith's damp hair between his fingers, Keith's hands clenching in his shirt, Keith's mouth moving against his ...

"Damn it," he said out loud, lowering his arm away from his face.

He heaved a deep sigh and turned onto his side, almost embarrassed at how fast his heart had started beating just at the memory of kissing Keith. As pathetic as he felt, he couldn't help but stare at the empty spot in the bed next to him and drift away again into imagining that other universe where things had played out differently—one where Keith and Lance were just normal people, one where maybe they woke up next to each other.

He might have just laid there all day, wallowing in misery and dwelling on what could have been. But right then, his attention was drawn to a faint buzzing sound coming from his nightstand. 

His phone was ringing. 

Lance didn't move at first, not wanting to even answer it—although he did feel a moment of relief that his phone had survived being submerged in the canal, after all. But then he realized it could be Hunk or Shay, since he hadn't talked to either of them since last night and they were probably worried about him. 

He rolled over and reached for his phone, then frowned when he saw it was coming from a random number and not from one of his friends. Still, just in case it was important, he swiped at the screen and held the device up to his ear. "Hello?" 

"McClain? Is that you?" Iverson's gruff voice came through.

Lance's blood froze in his veins and his eyes snapped all the way open. _Shit_.

He had been silent for a few seconds too long, apparently, because Iverson barked through the phone, "Hello? Are you there?"

Lance winced, holding the phone slightly away from his ear, before he braced himself and answered, “Yeah, I’m here.” He struggled to sit up, forcing some false cheer into his voice. “How’s it going?” 

Even though Lance couldn’t see him, he could practically hear Iverson seething. 

“How’s it _going_? Well … you’re late, for starters. Secondly, you said you would have that article on my desk by this morning, and my desk is empty.”

_Oh, boy_. Lance pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, mind already racing to come up with an excuse, but he was too tired to come up with anything believable. Besides, Iverson was already continuing his tirade. 

“And thirdly ... there are rumors circulating that the prince was seen out partying on the pier last night, even though allegedly he was extremely ill and confined to the Castle. There’s not enough evidence besides some hearsay and a few blurry phone photographs that don’t really prove anything. 

“But rumors have it, he was seen _with_ someone. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” 

Lance’s mouth felt dry all of a sudden, and his phone almost slipped from his hand before he managed to grasp onto it again. He mentally weighed his options, but none of them seemed good. Really, all he could do was either sell Keith out, or he could lie and probably lose his career over it. 

“Well?” Iverson prompted, when Lance still hadn’t spoken. “Come on, I haven’t got all day. What’s the story, McClain?” 

The question hung in the air, and Lance could feel the ensuing silence fill up his entire apartment. He knew this was the tipping point—and that once he spoke, he wouldn't be able to take it back. 

But he knew that, in the end, he really only had one choice. 

"There is no story."

There was something that felt oddly freeing about saying those words. Normally, Lance would have expected himself to feel a lot more panicked at delivering such news. But right now, he felt surprisingly calm as he just sat there in the emptiness of the room, phone held up to his ear, awaiting a response from the other end.

When Iverson spoke again, he—shockingly—didn't yell. Lance might have almost preferred that. Instead, his voice had a low, icy chill to it as he said, "What do you _mean_ there's no story?" 

Lance took his time to answer, releasing a sigh as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the floor. He didn't stand up yet—just sat there, running a hand through his hair. 

"There isn't much more to it than that. I wish I had a better excuse, but the truth is ... I made a mistake. I thought I had a lead, and I didn't. I'm sorry."

Another lengthy silence followed, interrupted only by a faint creaking noise like Iverson was leaning back in his chair. "So ... that's it, huh?"

"Yeah," Lance said. "That's it." When Iverson said nothing in response he continued, "Look, I understand if—"

"Before you say anything, just listen," Iverson snapped, cutting him off. "I know I said this was your last chance, but I might have one more opportunity for you." 

All Lance could do was blink, astounded, wondering if he had heard correctly. "Really?" he said, and then quickly gathering himself added, "I mean, uh ... what is it?" 

"Looks like the prince has rescheduled his press conference for later today—noon, to be exact. I was thinking of sending you to try and get a good quote or two." 

Lance's jaw almost dropped at the offer, but he somehow managed to keep himself together. The first thing he felt was an elated disbelief, because it seemed too good to be true that Iverson was giving him a second chance—or, well, more like a third or fourth chance at this point. At the same time, he felt like there had to be a catch. 

Not to mention ... the thought of going to the press conference made something seize up in his chest. On the one hand, it would be an opportunity to see Keith one more time. On the other hand, if he went, then Keith would find out who he really was—and that he worked for the press. And it probably wouldn't be too hard for Keith to piece everything together from there. 

"So?" Iverson said. "What do you say?" 

"I ..." Lance almost choked on the one syllable, then cleared his throat. "I don't know. I appreciate you giving me another chance, but ... are you sure you want _me_ on this assignment?" 

"Well, I can't say that I don't have my doubts after that stunt you pulled yesterday," Iverson replied. "But here's the thing. You're one of my best writers, McClain. Plus you take a lot of risks, and you tend to get the best quotes. That's why I wanted you on this assignment in the first place.

"That isn't to say that I'm not upset, but I also would prefer not to lose you from my team. So, I'm giving you one more shot. How about it?"

This was really not how Lance had expected this conversation to go, and he was unprepared to answer the question. But he knew that if he refused, or even hesitated for too long, he was possibly throwing away the one thing he'd worked so hard for. 

"Okay," he heard himself say. "I'll do it." 

"Great," Iverson said right away, like he'd known all along that Lance would accept the offer. "Then you should probably get a move on. I want the article on my desk before three o'clock, got it?"

"Yep," Lance said. "I mean ... yes. I'm on it."

Iverson hung up without saying anything else. 

Lance waited for a few moments longer, still holding his phone up to his ear, but … nope, Iverson was definitely gone. With another long sigh, Lance put his phone down on the nightstand and scrubbed his hands over his face—then froze as he fully realized what he’d just agreed to. 

Glancing at his alarm clock, he saw it was a little past 9:30. Okay … so he had a little while to get ready, and then he’d need some time to actually get over to the Castle of Lions for the press conference, and … _crap_ , he still needed to return Hunk’s car …

He stood up from his bed, thoughts tumbling around his brain at about a hundred miles an hour. A flurry of emotions raced through him, and he couldn't seem to decide which one to settle on—they all ran together until he could feel nothing but numbness. 

After all, he had already accepted he was never going to see Keith again. Now he _was_ going to see Keith again, but under circumstances where Keith was probably going to end up hating him, which was even worse. 

Unless ... he could just hide himself in the crowd and make sure Keith didn't see him. But then again, Iverson was expecting him to ask some questions and get a few quotes—otherwise he could probably kiss his career goodbye. 

Lance paced the room a couple of times, weighing his options, before he made his way over to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Maybe some caffeine would help him decide what to do.

He was leaning against the counter, still debating with himself while the coffee pot gurgled next to him, when suddenly a loud buzzing noise just about scared him out of his skin. 

It took him a second to recover and realize that the sound had come from the buzzer next to the door. His racing heart started to calm down a bit, as he frowned and walked across his apartment to press the speaker button. 

"Hello?"

"Lance!" Hunk's muffled voice came through. "Oh, my gosh. I wasn't sure you'd be home. Do you mind buzzing me in?" 

Lance immediately felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. "Oh—hey, Hunk. Yeah, sure. Gimme one sec." He pressed on the button to buzz Hunk into the building.

Not long after, there was a light rapping at the door, and Lance opened it to find Hunk standing there. He was grinning and clutching a large envelope, but his smile faded as he looked Lance up and down. 

Lance realized then that he probably looked like a mess. He was still wearing the T-shirt and boxers he'd fallen asleep in, and he imagined his hair was still disheveled and that he most likely had huge dark circles under his eyes. Still, he forced a smile as he stepped aside and opened the door a bit wider. 

"Hey, man. Come on in."

Hunk still looked at him warily as he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. "You okay, Lance? You look ..." He trailed off, like he couldn't think of a word that sounded polite enough. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," Lance insisted, then turned the question around. "What about you? What happened last night? Did you and Shay get away from that fight on the barge okay?"

"Oh, yeah. We made a run for it like a couple minutes after you and Keith took off. I tried to call you like twelve times, but you never picked up." 

Lance winced, rubbing at his arm sheepishly. "Shit ... I'm sorry, man. I kind of, uh, fell in the canal and my phone got waterlogged. It's okay now, but it didn't start working again 'til this morning. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Whoa, whoa. Wait." Hunk's eyes went wide. "Back up. You fell in the canal? What happened?" 

"Well ... long story short, one of those secret agent guys chased us and punched me and I fell in the water," Lance explained. When he saw the way Hunk's jaw dropped in horror he added hastily, "It was fine, though—we got away. And he didn't hit me that hard. Didn't even leave a mark." 

He rubbed at the spot on his jaw where he'd been hit, as if to prove his point. It was still a little sore, but didn't hurt any worse than it had the night before. 

"Holy shit," said Hunk, looking Lance over as if searching for any other sign that he'd been hurt. "That's so scary, man. But I'm really glad you're alright." 

At that, a genuine smile rose to Lance's face. "I'm glad you're okay too, buddy."

"Aw, Lance."

Hunk looked a bit teary-eyed, which Lance knew was a sign he should probably brace himself to be tackle-hugged. His assumption turned out to be correct a moment later when Hunk's arms engulfed him in a crushing embrace. Despite getting the wind momentarily choked out of him, Lance found himself gratefully leaning into it, pressing his forehead into Hunk's shoulder. 

After a few lingering seconds, they separated again. Lance cleared his throat. "So, uh ... I assume you came to get your car back?"

Hunk blinked. "I mean ... yeah, that's part of the reason. Mostly I just wanted to make sure you were okay. But also, I came to give you _these_." He brandished the big envelope in front of Lance's face like it was a million-dollar prize. 

Lance stared at the object in question, taking it warily from Hunk's hands. "What is it?" 

Hunk looked at him with a bewildered expression, like the answer should have been completely obvious. "Dude, it's the _photos_ ," he said. "Gosh, they turned out really nice. They're gonna go so well with the article. How'd it turn out, by the way?" When he was only met with silence, his smile dropped. "... Lance?" 

As soon as he'd realized what he was holding, Lance had felt like the ground dropped out from underneath his feet. All he could do was stare down at the envelope like it was a bomb about to go off.

He almost didn't want to look, yet he found his hands moving of their own accord, fingers shaking as he lifted the flap on the envelope and reached inside. 

He pulled out a stack of glossy photos, and his heart almost stopped when he saw the very first one. It was from the previous afternoon when they'd taken the boat ride down the canal. Keith was standing by the railing with his elbows leaning against it, hair fluttering in the wind, smiling peacefully as he observed the scenery. The next photo showed him exploring one of the galleries at the museum, leaning in to read the description underneath a display case, his contemplative face reflected in the glass. 

Lance's breath caught when he flipped to the next photo, which showed him and Keith riding through the city streets on the vespa. Lance was pointing at something out of frame. Keith had his arms wrapped around Lance's waist and was looking eagerly in the direction Lance was indicating, a wonderstruck look on his face. 

The next few photos were similar, showing them on the vespa from various angles. Then ... one of them in the gardens, walking side by side amidst the blossoms. One of them standing in front of the Mouth of Truth, Lance gripping Keith's arms as they laughed hysterically. One of them standing next to the wall of inscriptions, heads bowed and eyes closed as they made their respective wishes. 

The more he flipped through the photos, the more Lance felt as if the blood was draining from his face. While there were a few like the first one that were just of Keith, most of them were of him and Keith _together_ ... which made sense, since they'd spent most of the day with each other, but he still felt exposed somehow. 

The thought was cut short as he got to a picture of Keith hitting the secret agent over the head with the guitar. He paused, unable to stop the fond and breathless laugh that escaped from him. It really was a great action shot, but he also found it hard to look away from the endearing frown of determination on Keith's face. 

"Oh, yeah—that one turned out really good," Hunk said with a chuckle. Then he shifted on his feet, scratching at his ear. "But, uh ... I think you should look at the last one. It's my favorite." 

Lance looked up at him briefly before looking down at the photos in his hands again, still lingering on the picture in front of him. He wondered what could possibly be better than this photograph of Keith smashing someone over the head with a guitar, and that it was something that Hunk seemed anxious for him to see. But after hesitating for a few seconds longer, he moved on to the final photo. 

When he saw what it was, he felt like the world around him had come to a halt. 

It was a picture of him and Keith on the dance floor on the barge. They were standing close together, almost chest-to-chest, Lance's arm around Keith's waist and Keith's hand on Lance's shoulder. They were just ... looking at each other, faces inches apart, Keith's chin tilted up ever so slightly to make up for their small height difference. There were other couples on the dance floor but they were the only ones in clear focus, gazing into each other's eyes like they didn't even notice all the people around them, both smiling shyly. The golden glow of the string lights and lanterns hanging above them only added to the magical effect, like they were in their own world apart from everyone else.

The photo started to blur in front of Lance's eyes, and he didn't realize how long he'd been staring at it before he felt Hunk's hand on his shoulder. 

"Lance?" The way he said it made Lance suspect that Hunk had already said his name several times. "Hey, are you okay?" 

Lance couldn't get himself to answer. He barely felt the floor under his feet as he walked across the room, still holding the bundle of photos, and sat down heavily on the couch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hunk move towards him, then sit next to him.

Neither of them spoke. Lance could see the movement of Hunk's hands fidgeting in his lap nervously—but judging by his silence, he could tell it was best not to say anything until Lance was ready. 

Finally, Lance placed the stack of photos on the coffee table. 

"I didn't write the article," he said, not looking up. 

Hunk froze. 

"I know I promised it would be a game changer for both of us," Lance went on, "and I dragged you around the city all day, and—hell, you got into a fight with some secret service agent and could've gotten really hurt or worse. 

“I know it's all my fault, and there's nothing I can do to make it up to you ... and I don't expect you to understand but I just—I couldn't do it. I couldn't. I'm sorry, I—"

"Lance," Hunk cut him off. "Slow down, man. I'm not mad."

"You ..." Lance looked up at him in shock, to find that Hunk was looking back at him with a reassuring smile. "You're not?" 

"No. In fact, I kinda had a feeling you weren't gonna write the story." Lance must have looked a bit offended by that, because Hunk went on quickly, "Not that I didn't have faith in you or anything. It was more that ... well, maybe about halfway through the day yesterday, I started to suspect it." 

"Suspect what?"

"That the reason you were taking Keith around the whole city ... it was never really about the article."

The words felt like a slap in the face. All Lance could do was stare at Hunk, speechless—and even though his first instinct was to protest, he knew that Hunk would see right through him. 

"Look, I know it's really none of my business," Hunk said, holding his hands up defensively. "But, I'm saying this because I'm your best friend and I wanna be totally honest with you." 

He let his hands fall into his lap again, lacing his fingers together as he paused before continuing. "Even when we first started our little adventure yesterday, I didn't totally believe it was all about the article—I mean, yeah, making fifty grand off one article is a big deal. And I know you care about furthering your career and all that. 

“But I know you, Lance. I knew you wouldn't just do something like that for the money or for your own benefit or whatever. So, I was a little suspicious there was more to it than that, but of course I went along with the whole thing 'cause I wanted to help you out. 

"I _was_ taking the photos to go with the article at first. But the more I watched you two together, it became more like I was ... well, documenting something much more special than that." 

He spoke each word carefully, like he knew he was treading on the edge of something and was afraid to cross any boundaries. Lance could only listen with a faint ringing in his ears. It wasn't like it was hard to piece together Hunk's implication, but he didn't even know how to react. 

"What do you mean?" he asked, although he was fairly certain he knew the answer. 

Hunk sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "You're really gonna make me spell it out, huh?" He gestured towards the photos lying on the coffee table. "You just saw all the pictures. Didn't you see how _happy_ you both looked in them? I've just ... I've never seen you that way with anyone before, Lance. Like, sure, you've had a few flings here and there, but this was different—like you had a serious connection with him, you know?

"What I'm saying is ... you really like Keith." 

Hunk's rambling came to an end, and he peered at Lance with an anxious expression as he awaited a response. But Lance still had no idea what to say, feeling somewhere halfway between laughing and crying. He could always deny the truth, of course, but there wasn't much point in running from it.

Suddenly feeling like all the energy had been drained from his body, he slumped back against the couch. 

"Yeah," he admitted quietly, his gaze falling again on the picture of him and Keith dancing on the barge. "I do."

Hunk was strangely quiet following Lance's confession. Lance wasn't sure what he had expected—some exclamation of surprise, or for Hunk to tell him he was being totally ridiculous or _something_. Instead, he was met with a long silence before Hunk said hesitantly, "And ... ?" 

"What do you mean? There is no 'and.' That's _it_. It's over, Hunk. He's a prince, and he had to go back to ... I don't know, doing royal stuff or whatever. He'll probably forget about the whole thing in a week or two." 

Hunk didn't seem persuaded, tapping a finger against his chin thoughtfully as he looked down at the photo displayed in front of them. "Hmm, I don't know. That doesn't look like the face of someone who's about to forget you."

Following Hunk's gaze, Lance couldn't argue against that—because truthfully, Keith _did_ look really happy in the picture. But it was still difficult for Lance to comprehend that _he_ was the source of that happiness ... and even if he could accept it, it didn't change the fact that there was no way they could be together. 

When Lance didn't speak for a long time, Hunk seemed to sense something was off, and he shifted a little closer. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked. "Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry if I—" 

"No, it's fine. It's not you," Lance cut him off. "It's just ... it's all so complicated." 

"Complicated? Why, 'cause Keith is a prince?"

"Well, I mean, _yeah_. Him being a prince is kind of a big deal. But it's also ..." Lance bit his lip, knowing he was probably saying too much.

"But also ... what?" Hunk prompted. He squinted suspiciously. "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?" When Lance didn't provide an immediate answer, Hunk's eyes widened again. "Oh, my gosh. I knew it. Something _happened_."

"What?" Lance made a poor attempt to laugh it off, but his nervous chuckle sounded completely unconvincing even to his own ears. "I don't know what you're—" He stopped himself when Hunk gave him a withering look. There was really no getting out of this one, was there? 

"Okay, okay. Fine," he relented. "So ... we kissed. A couple times. That's all." 

Hunk gaped at him. "You _what_?" Before Lance could answer, Hunk grabbed him by the shoulders. "You kissed Keith? _Multiple times_? When did that happen?" 

"Okay, firstly, _ow_ ," Lance said, shrugging Hunk off and rubbing at one of his shoulders. "You're really strong, you know that? But if you must know ... it was after we escaped from those secret agents at the party. We went to go hide under the bridge and, uh ... yeah." He shut his mouth before he could say anything more than that. His face was already burning badly enough as it was. 

Apparently it had been enough of an explanation for Hunk, who now practically had stars in his eyes and was holding his hands against his cheeks in delight. "Aww, _Lance_. That's, like, so romantic. Gosh, it's like something right out of an action movie. How did it happen? Did he kiss you first? Did you kiss him? What—" 

"Hunk," Lance interrupted him. 

The exasperation must have shown on his face, because Hunk's smile dropped. "Oh, man ... wait, you look upset. What happened? Was he a bad kisser?" 

"Oh, my God." Lance groaned and ran a hand down his face, hoping it would at least momentarily mask his embarrassment. "No, he was—ugh, never mind. Point is, I never told him I was with the press or anything. And he never told me he was the prince, and he never found out that I knew and ... then, there's one other thing." 

"What's that?" 

"Iverson called me, right before you got here. He's pissed I didn't write the article, but he also told me that the press conference was rescheduled for today. So if I go, I'll probably get to keep my job. But ..." 

"But if you go, then Keith will find out the truth," Hunk finished the thought for him. "Oh, man. Yeah, that’s … definitely complicated."

He sounded much more chill about the situation than Lance had expected, and he seemed to be thinking it over as he draped an arm across the back of the couch. 

"Okay, I don't know if you're going to like my suggestion," Hunk said at last, "but if you ask me, I think you should go." Before Lance could argue he went on, "And I don't just mean for the sake of keeping your job—although that's important, too. But it also means you would get to see Keith again. And, who knows, maybe he would be more understanding about the whole thing than you think."

Lance knew Hunk was just trying to be helpful, but he wasn't feeling quite that optimistic. "I don't know," he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Even if he's not mad at me, it's not like I'll get a chance to talk to him one-on-one. And he'll probably be leaving the country soon, anyway."

"Okay, fair point," Hunk conceded. "And like, obviously I'm not forcing you to go. But I'm just saying ... this could be your last shot, man." 

Despite all the arguments that rose to his mind, Lance knew that Hunk was right. While the thought of going to the press conference made him feel dizzy with dread, the alternative somehow seemed worse—that if he didn't go, not only would he lose his job … but he would never see Keith again, and he would never know what could have happened. 

Without even thinking about it, he reached out and rested his fingers against the edge of the photograph on the table—like somehow he could absorb that captured moment again just by touching it. 

Then, after a long silence, he gave a relenting sigh. 

"Okay," he said. "I know what I have to do."

  


* * *

  


Keith had already spent an obscene amount of time standing in front of the mirror adjusting his tie, but at this point there wasn't much else he could do. It was either that or pace the room to dispel his nervous energy, but he'd already done that for about twenty minutes beforehand. 

He glanced down at his watch, and his pulse skipped when he saw how close both of the hands were to 12. In just a few minutes, he would be out there in front of a sea of people—not to mention probably millions more would be seeing videos of the press conference circulating shortly afterward. The very thought made him want to pass out. 

"You doing okay?" 

Shiro's voice startled him out of his thoughts. His reflection appeared in the mirror next to Keith's—which, as usual, only reminded Keith of how disheveled he looked compared to his brother. Shiro looked as composed as always, his suit and tie crisp and immaculate. Meanwhile, Keith's suit looked a bit rumpled and his tie was askew despite the fact that he'd just tried to straighten it about a hundred and twelve times. 

"I ..." he started to say, but all the automatic responses that surfaced to his mind didn't feel genuine enough. "I feel like I'm suffocating."

He had sort of meant for it to come off as a joke—but it must have been clear that it was how he really felt, because he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder and turn him around. 

Shiro looked him over with a frown, adjusting Keith's lapels before his expression softened into a reassuring smile. "Hey, you're gonna do great out there. Just take a deep breath, okay?" 

Keith obeyed, inhaling for a couple of seconds before he let it out in a long sigh. It at least slowed down his heart rate, but didn't stop his hands from trembling or his mind from conjuring up a thousand ways this could all go horribly wrong. 

"There you go," Shiro said, patting him on the arm. "It'll be fine, trust me. And remember, I'll be right there behind you the whole time."

Keith couldn't even find the words to speak, but he managed a small nod in response. 

Before he could even thank Shiro, he saw a movement in the corner of his eye and looked up to see Coran entering the room. Upon seeing the two princes, he gave a polite bow of his head. 

"Prince Akira, Prince Takashi ... the press has arrived. Allura and Alfor are greeting them right now."

Although he conveyed the update calmly, Keith could sense the slight note of urgency underneath it. They couldn't afford to waste any more time. He looked up at his brother one more time as if waiting for a signal, which Shiro gave to him with a warm smile. 

"You ready?" he asked Keith. 

And all of a sudden, despite the nerves that had gripped him only minutes ago, Keith felt an eerie sense of calmness wash over him. 

"Yeah," he said. "I'm ready."

He felt like he was walking through a dream as he followed Coran down the long hallway, their footsteps echoing against the marble floor. Guards in dark uniforms lined either side of the corridor, as still and stoic as statues. 

Even before they reached the large hall where the press conference was to take place, Keith could hear the restless murmur of the awaiting crowd. Voices overlapped each other in a dull roar, amplified by the cavernous space. Just from the noise alone, he could tell it was a sizable group of people out there, and it made him want to turn and run in the other direction—but there was no escaping from it, now.

The walk up to the doors both felt excruciatingly long and also like it went by in the blink of an eye. Before Keith knew it, he was standing at the end of the corridor, as two attendants opened the doors.

A flood of light and noise poured out, and Keith hung back in trepidation. But before he could completely lose his nerve, he felt Shiro's hand giving him a gentle pat on the back, encouraging him to move forward. Taking a deep breath, Keith stepped through the entryway. 

To his right hung a blue velvet curtain, which had been pulled back to reveal a wide platform with a podium at the front. Alfor and Allura were already standing near the front of the stage, accompanied by several Blade members. When they looked up and saw Keith approaching from the wing, they all acknowledged his presence with polite nods and stepped aside. At the same time, Coran moved right up to the podium while Keith hovered nervously beside him. 

Coran tapped on the microphone, and the sound reverberated through the large hall. The droning conversation started to quiet down. With Coran standing right in front of him, and with the bright lights shining in his eyes, Keith couldn't clearly see how many people there were—but he caught a glimpse of the massive throng, a hazy sea of bodies and faces. 

"People of the press," Coran addressed them. "We appreciate your attendance today. And thank you for arriving on such short notice. You may move a bit closer if you'd like." 

The invitation was met with the sound of feet eagerly shuffling forward, and Keith glimpsed a few flashes of cameras going off throughout the room. He flinched inwardly but tried not to let the anxiety show on his face, keeping his expression neutral as he curled his hands into fists and dug his fingernails into his palms. 

"And now, I am pleased to introduce all of you to Prince Akira of Daibazaal."

An unnerving quiet settled over the room following the announcement, as the attendees waited for the prince to step forward. Coran backed away from the podium, sweeping out his arm to indicate it was Keith's turn to take the stand. 

Keith's ears were ringing, and his heart pounded so frantically he felt like it might burst out of his ribcage. But he managed to offer a gracious nod in Coran's direction before he approached the podium. 

His vision blurred and then refocused again on the microphone in front of him, before he raised his eyes to look out over the mass of journalists and reporters. Around them stood the decadent hall, with its towering ceiling and white pillars surrounding its perimeter. 

Keith's mouth felt dry and his palms were sweating as he placed his hands on either side of the podium. But he tried to stand up a little straighter, regarding the crowd with a faint smile. 

"Thank you," he said at last, and paused at the sound of his amplified voice echoing through the room, "everyone, for coming here today. I apologize for my ... absence yesterday." 

He tried not to wince. Even though he had rehearsed his words in his head all morning, they seemed to fly out the window now that he was facing an audience. He considered launching into an excuse as to why he hadn't been there the day before, but ... no, he was here to answer the public’s questions. If the topic came up, he would address it. 

"I will take your questions now," he said, since there wasn't much point in delaying it any longer. 

There was a bustling in the crowd as many people tried to move forward at once, raising their hands to ask a question. Coran gestured towards a woman towards the front, indicating that she could speak first. 

"Prince Akira," she said, her clear voice echoing through the crowded room. "Your reported illness yesterday caused much alarm, especially in your home country of Daibazaal. I firstly wanted to express the great relief felt by many that you seem to have recovered. But for anyone who is still concerned, is there any reassurance you can provide?" 

Keith had braced himself for such a question, of course, but still felt a tremor of anxiety rush up his spine. He drummed his fingers against the edges of the podium, trying to formulate the most careful response that he could. 

"Yes," he said at last. "And firstly, thank you. To everyone who was worried about me, I appreciate your concern. But, part of why I wanted to hold the press conference today was to tell everyone that I'm fine. My illness was ... not as serious as it was first believed to be. A lot of rumors spread about my condition, and unfortunately I think some things were blown out of proportion.

"I didn't mean to cause a scare or anything like that, so I apologize to anyone who was worried. In fact, I recovered about halfway through the day and was able to spend some time exploring the city." 

He paused for a moment, as the half-truth in those words made a wistful smile rise to his face. But he sobered quickly before continuing, "I realize the public probably should have been notified about my recovery. However, I didn't know that everyone thought I was so seriously ill. On top of that, I was hoping to be able to travel around the city unnoticed ... to experience it the same way anyone else would. I hope you can all understand." 

He knew it wasn't entirely the truth, and felt a twinge of guilt for withholding information. But after a lot of deliberation beforehand, he had settled on the explanation as the best way to address the public's concerns, while also not making up an entire falsehood or revealing that the Altean royal family had lied to cover up his mistakes. 

As more hands went up to ask the next question, Keith snuck a glance in Shiro's direction; his brother was standing alongside Alfor and Allura towards the other end of the stage, and shot Keith a comforting smile to assure him he was doing a good job. 

Keith's momentary sense of relief was shot down, however, when he saw the next person who had been chosen to speak was a somewhat weasel-faced man a few rows back, who regarded Keith with a narrow-eyed and judgmental look before he even opened his mouth to ask his question.

"On the topic of rumors, your highness ... There have been photographs circulating online that appear to show you attending a party on a barge last night. Several witnesses have claimed that a fight broke out at this gathering, and that you were involved in it. Would you care to address these claims?"

Keith felt himself prickle at the man's accusatory tone, and it didn't help that he could feel the tense change in atmosphere as the other reporters in the crowd waited restlessly—some appearing uncomfortable, others obviously eager to pounce on whatever excuse Keith was about to give. 

He knew that the pointed question was intended to get under his skin, and that also whatever he said was bound to be twisted a hundred times over in numerous tabloids. Although his instinct was to lash out, to snap that it was no one's business where he'd been the night before, he knew that wasn't the most professional way to address the question, and also that refusing to comment would also probably worsen the situation. 

A thick silence had permeated the air, and Keith could see his fellow royals shifting nervously in the corner of his vision, like any of them were ready to leap forward and give an answer on his behalf.

But as his initial panic faded, an unexpected sense of calmness swept over Keith. He had been gripping hard onto the sides of the podium, but now his fingers relaxed and he squared his shoulders. 

"Sure, I can comment on that," he said at last, and he could practically hear everyone in the room holding their breath as they awaited the rest of his explanation.

"Firstly—yes, I can confirm I attended this party. Someone had invited me, and I had also heard that the city was famous for its pier at sunset, so I wanted to see it. 

“As for the fight ... there was a misunderstanding. I thought I was in danger, and I acted out of self defense. I'm sorry for any disturbance it caused—and if there was any damage to property, I'm of course happy to pay for it or to help in any other way I can." 

This caused a stirring in the crowd, murmurs rising and a few dozen hands going up. Keith had predicted he would probably open up a can of worms, but he still flinched inwardly at the thought of being bombarded with questions on the topic. Maybe there was still a way to wheedle his way out of this one, or to at least shoot down some of the crowd's suspicions.

"I know this might affect the public's opinion of me," he continued, hoping to stall a bit longer. "And I understand that my actions were irresponsible. But I would rather own up to them than lie about them. And I ... I want to promise to do better." 

Up until now, he'd managed to keep his composure. As he spoke that last sentence, however, he could feel it slipping—he could hear the slight tremor in his own voice. But for some reason, it didn't feel as frightening as he expected. It felt sincere. It felt like himself. 

And so he pushed onward with more resolve, allowing his mask to crumble away. 

"I've spent a lot of my life trying to stay out of the spotlight as much as I could. But I want to change that, and I don't want it to be in a bad way. I don't want everyone's impression of me to be of someone irresponsible, or of someone who doesn't care about representing Daibazaal—because I do. 

“I want to do everything I can to help improve relations between my country and others. I want the people of Daibazaal to know that I hear them, and that I want to keep improving myself so that I can be worthy of their respect."

This seemed to cause yet another disturbance among the gathered people in front of him, but one that was a bit less chaotic. Although there was a bit more murmuring, he noticed that some of the raised hands faltered a little or went down completely. He didn't want to be _too_ hopeful, but he felt a spark of hope that maybe this was all going to go smoother than he thought.

He stood there, dwelling in the momentary sense of victory, as Coran surveyed the crowd again. Finally, he pointed towards a figure who had just shouldered their way to the front row, raising a hand high in the air and—

_Wait_. 

Keith blinked into the bright lights a few times, certain that he was hallucinating. But as his vision adjusted again, and he focused on the person standing there at the front of the crowd, he knew for certain that he wasn't imagining things.

Because right there—in front of the stage, face tilted up to look right at him—was Lance. 

All at once, it felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Keith couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could hardly even stand on his feet. All he could do was stare in utter disbelief, torn between a thousand emotions at once. Because Lance was _here_ , standing right before him, and the first instinct that leapt to Keith's mind was to literally jump off the stage and throw his arms around him. 

At the same time, his heart took a steep dive as the truth hit him. Because Lance was standing down there amongst all the reporters and journalists, like he was one of them—because ... because he _was_ one of them, Keith realized. Which meant— 

No. No, it couldn't be. 

His ears started to ring, and all he could do was clutch onto the podium, afraid that otherwise he might fall over. It was all he could do to keep from gawking in incredulity, praying that his shock wasn't displayed openly on his face. 

There could have been a million other people in the room, and Keith probably wouldn't have noticed. Everything else faded into the background as he took in the sight of Lance's face, as he watched every minuscule movement in his expression—a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth like he wasn't sure whether to smile or not, his eyes glimmering with some emotion that Keith couldn't quite read. But it looked almost pleading, or terrified, like he was putting something fragile and significant into Keith's hands. 

Lance's shoulders rose and fell before he spoke, as he visibly took a deep breath. Then he gave a slight bow of his head, offering a faint smile.

"Prince Akira," he addressed Keith—and something about him using that title made something crack around the edges of Keith's heart. "There are many questions I would like to ask you, but I think the most important one is this ..."

In the ensuing silence, Keith held his breath until he started to feel a little dizzy. At the same time, Lance kept looking up at him, throat bobbing as he swallowed. When he spoke again, each word was careful and calculated. 

"Obviously, Altea and Daibazaal have had a troubled past. Even since the war ended many years ago, there's been a lot of tension. A lot of misunderstandings. Probably some withholding of information." 

He paused, looking away and scratching the side of his neck. When he looked up at Keith again, their gazes locked, and Keith almost forgot the distance separating them. It felt, for a moment, like they were standing face-to-face. 

Lance’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a breath. 

"Some might say that with such a history, there's no hope for the two countries to reconcile. But, I was hoping to get your perspective on the matter. Do you think ..." He stopped again, offering a hesitant and apologetic smile. "Do you think that, even with everything that's happened between them, there might still be a chance they could forgive each other?"

Keith couldn't stop staring at him, at the familiar tilt of his smile, somehow feeling simultaneously like he was looking at someone he'd known for years and also like he was looking at the face of a total stranger. He could hardly process Lance's question at first, still in shock from seeing Lance here and realizing who he truly was. But as the words settled in, as he started to unravel the layers of meaning, he felt like something had split open inside his chest. 

"I ..." he started to say, voice almost cracking. He hadn't realized until then that his eyes had started to sting, and he blinked a few times to clear the blurriness away. It was starting to sink in, now, that the room was full of people waiting for him to speak. But he kept looking directly at Lance as he took a shaky breath and gave a small nod. 

"Yes."

The one word came out so quietly that Keith almost wasn't sure the microphone had picked it up. But apparently Lance had heard it, judging by the way his expression softened in relief. Keith returned the smile, as something warm ignited in his soul. He wasn't quite sure how to name the feeling—but whatever it was, he latched onto it as he remembered he needed to fully address the question. 

From his spot at the front of the crowd, Lance gave him an encouraging nod—and Keith returned it with a nod of his own, before he managed to tear his gaze away and looked out over the mass of people.

"Yes," he said again, more firmly this time. "This is a question that many people have asked over the years. It's one of the main reasons why my brother and I came to the Altean capital in the first place—to help strengthen the alliance between our two countries.

"I'll be totally honest ... At first, I wasn't sure if it would make much of a difference. Altea and Daibazaal have had decades of conflict. Even if most of it is in the past now, it's not like we can erase that. 

"And just within the past day, I've seen the signs of it everywhere. The war may have been a long time ago, but the consequences of it will always be there. All the lives that were lost, all the sacred monuments that were destroyed ... There's nothing we can do to take that back."

He came to a stop, realizing that the speech was beginning to take a grim turn—and he could tell by the tense atmosphere that no one knew where he was going with this. But he continued on, looking determinedly over the crowd as he did so. 

"I know what I'm saying might make a lot of people uncomfortable—but the truth is, we _should_ feel uncomfortable with it. War is a horrible, ugly thing. And I don't want to stand here and just give an empty apology—because as much as I can say that I'm sorry on behalf of Daibazaal, it won't change the fact that my ancestors committed crimes against Altea.

"So, what I want to say instead is that I have every intention to keep improving the relationship between our two countries—not out of guilt, but because I believe in creating a brighter future. And because I believe in the relationships between people, and that we'll do everything we can to work together and to make things right." 

Keith finally came to a stop, holding his breath during the short silence that followed the end of his speech. He was nervous for a moment that his sentiments had fallen completely flat. But as the crowd seemed to realize he had concluded, scattered applause rose from the perimeters of the room, and soon spread throughout the hall—nothing uproarious, but enough enthusiasm that it eased the knot of anxiety in Keith's chest. 

While the audience was still occupied, Keith snuck another look in Lance's direction. Lance beamed back up at him in return—and although he wasn't clapping, that smile alone felt like a standing ovation. 

Keith was soon pulled back into reality as the questions continued—mostly ones regarding politics and economics and whatnot, which he did his best to answer. His earlier nervous energy had subsided somewhat, and he found that an unexpected side of himself had emerged—one that spoke professionally, occasionally stumbling or hesitating but still addressing each inquiry with openness and honesty. He was certain his answers were far from perfect, and maybe it was just the numbness of being in the spotlight in front of so many people, but the more he spoke the more natural it felt. 

Before he knew it, Coran was announcing that there was only time for one more question. Keith felt a bit like he'd been shaken awake from a dream. Was it almost over already? He'd gotten so swept up in answering each question that he hadn’t noticed the time passing. 

"Prince Akira," said the journalist who had been chosen to speak last, "I wanted to thank you, first of all, for taking the time to answer our questions today. 

"As for my own question ... You have traveled many places during your goodwill tour around the peninsula. Out of all the cities you have visited on your journey, which of them did you enjoy the most?" 

The first thing Keith felt upon hearing the question was a rush of relief that it wasn't something overly political. At the same time, he wasn't sure how to respond—even though he knew what the answer was. 

"That's ..." he started to say, then paused and cleared his throat. "That's difficult to say. I've been to many places on this tour, and each of them was unforgettable. But ..."

He trailed off, finding Lance's face again in the crowd—saw the hint of apprehension in his eyes, like whatever Keith was about to say would tip a vital balance. 

"Altea," Keith said, without even thinking. He knew it was probably his duty as the prince to be more impartial, but to hell with it. It was worth the risk, just to see the way Lance's face melted into a fond smile again. 

"I really mean it when I say I'm never going to forget my stay here," he went on, even though he knew he probably didn't have to elaborate. "Out of everywhere I've been, it's been the most eye-opening, and I couldn't be more grateful for everything I've experienced here. I ..." 

His voice had started to waver, and he swallowed as he struggled to regain his composure. His gaze remained locked with Lance's, steady and sincere. 

"It's only been a day, but I feel like I've already fallen in love with this place. And whenever I come back, I hope it will welcome me again." 

More applause broke out—a bit more enthusiastic this time—but Keith hardly noticed it. He was still fixated on Lance, anxious to see his reaction ... and was relieved to see the tremulous smile that lit up his face, and the way his eyes glimmered in the light. Keith could only smile back, feeling as if some great weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. 

All of a sudden, he remembered the rest of the audience watching him, and he lifted his gaze away from Lance long enough to look over the rest of the crowd. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement as he moved away from the podium, just as Coran stepped up to the microphone to take his place. 

Keith was still in a daze as he stood there off to the side. He tried to find Lance's face again in the swarm of people, but he was distracted by the feeling of someone's hand wrapping around his wrist. 

When he turned around, he found that Allura was standing next to him. She wore a bright smile, and her eyes shone with some emotion that Keith couldn't quite pinpoint—but she looked excited and almost _proud_. It brought Keith back to what she'd said to him in the garden the other night, how it had seemed like there was something she hoped he would learn during his time in Altea. Although she had never exactly told him what it was, the look she was giving him now seemed to indicate that he had learned it. 

Before he knew what was happening, Allura pulled him into a tight hug, not seeming to care that there was a whole room full of people watching them. Keith tensed a little at first, and then found himself gratefully returning Allura's embrace. He noticed a few camera flashes out of the corner of his eye, but he put that at the back of his mind for now. 

"That was wonderful," the princess said quietly, so that only Keith could hear it.

He smiled to himself, patting her on the back. "Thanks, Allura."

They were both still smiling when they stepped away from each other—and when Keith glanced over Allura's shoulder, he saw that Shiro was grinning at him from across the stage. Keith could see the pride clearly written on his brother's face, and it made a warm feeling of relief rush over him.

Apparently Coran had been waiting for the crowd to settle, because it wasn't until now that he cleared his throat and began to address the audience and thank them for coming.

It suddenly hit Keith that the press was about to be dismissed, and his smile fell. Panic gripped him, and he moved again towards the podium as if pulled by a magnetic force. He reached out to tap Coran on the shoulder, drawing his attention. 

Coran stopped what he was saying and looked over at Keith, blinking questioningly. "Yes, your highness?"

It took Keith a moment to gather the courage to ask his question—ironic, really, considering he had just been addressing an entire audience not long before. He glanced towards the front row of the crowd. 

"I was just wondering," he said, "if it be okay if I went down there for a minute to meet with some of the press."

The request seemed to catch Coran off-guard. His eyes widened, before he gave his mustache a thoughtful stroke. "Meet with the press? Hmm ... well, that's not exactly customary. However, I suppose I don't see the harm in it as long as we keep it brief."

Keith felt the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smile, but he managed to maintain his composure as he gave Coran a polite nod. "Thank you." 

Coran turned back around to speak into the microphone. "A slight change of plans. The prince will now take a few minutes to meet with the people of the press. Please remain where you are."

Some murmurs rose from the audience at this announcement, but they died down as Keith approached the stairs and began to descend from the platform. One of the Blade members onstage had walked over to accompany him—but otherwise Keith suddenly felt isolated and exposed, like every pair of eyes in the room was watching him. 

He didn't dare to meet anyone's gaze as he approached the front row of reporters. So as to avoid any suspicions, he started with the far right side of the row. He made his way along the line of people, one at a time, looking each journalist in the eye and giving them an earnest smile as he shook their hand. Each of them introduced themselves and which publication they were representing—some of them seeming confused or flustered by Keith's presence, others returning his smile as if they were old friends. 

Although Keith tried to give each reporter his full attention—because, after all, he _did_ want to show how grateful he was that they had all attended—he felt a bit lightheaded the whole time, his heart pounding more rapidly as he worked his way down the row, knowing that the moment of truth was approaching. 

But nothing could have prepared him for when it finally happened. 

He had tried to keep his attention focused on each reporter as he spoke to them, not paying attention to whoever was next in line—but he got to a point where he knew he was getting close. And finally, as he was shaking hands with one journalist, he could see a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye, standing with their head lowered as they shifted nervously on their feet. 

Mentally bracing himself, Keith turned around to face them—and sure enough, it was Lance. 

It had been one thing to see him from up on the stage, from a wide distance. Although there had been no mistaking it was really him, the separation had made it feel more surreal and dreamlike. It was another thing entirely to be standing right in front of him, knowing for an indisputable fact that he was real, close enough to touch him—and yet feeling as if they stood on opposite sides of a thick glass pane. 

Up this close, Keith could see the subtle signs of exhaustion on Lance's face—the dark lines under his eyes indicating that he had slept as restlessly as Keith had. Yet, he was trying to cover it up under his usual crooked grin.

The sight of that smile still did unfair things to Keith's heart, like an invisible hand had reached inside his ribcage and squeezed. He had about a million and one questions, and didn't know how to process this new information now that he knew Lance's true identity, or what it meant for them ... if there even was a _them_ to begin with. 

But if he was being honest with himself, he didn't care. All he could think about was how much he longed to throw his arms around Lance, to be held by him again ... 

Lance cleared his throat, which pulled Keith back to reality. His smile had faded a little, his eyes glinting with anxiety like he was worried Keith was angry at him. "Hi," he said. 

"Hi," Keith said back, voice coming out barely more than a croak. He stuck out his hand. 

Lance grasped it, and Keith felt as if an electric current had run up his arm. It seemed to take them both a moment to remember they were actually supposed to shake hands and not just stand there holding hands and staring at each other—but finally Lance gave Keith a brief but firm handshake, bowing his head politely as he did so.

"Lance McClain," he said. "National Altean News."

Keith wasn't sure he could even bring himself to speak, but at last he swallowed thickly and offered a small smile in return. "It's nice to meet you." 

The corner of Lance's mouth twitched a little, but he still maintained his friendly expression. "You, too," he said softly. 

It wasn't until then that Keith realized they were still holding hands, and he hastily let go. He knew he should probably keep moving down the line, but he felt as if his body had frozen in place. There was so much he wanted to say, wanted to ask, but he knew he couldn't do it in front of all these people. 

Lance looked like he wanted to say something too, opening his mouth and then closing it after a moment of hesitation. "Um ... actually, I have something for you."

He had something tucked under one arm that Keith hadn't noticed until then. When he pulled it out, Keith saw that it was a large brown envelope with no label or any other marks on it. The guard who had accompanied Keith stiffened, but Keith held up a hand to indicate everything was okay. 

He took the object from Lance's hands, staring down at it as if he could see right through the envelope and view what was inside. After turning it over in his hands and still seeing no markings to indicate what it contained, he looked up again at Lance questioningly. 

"It's some ... commemorative photos," Lance said, scratching the side of his neck, "of your trip to Altea." 

Suddenly, Keith understood. He thought of the way Hunk had followed the two of them around the day before, his camera always at the ready. A slight heat rose to his face, but he gave Lance a genuine smile as he gripped the envelope more tightly. 

"Thank you," he said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. He blinked the stinging sensation from his eyes. "This ... This really means a lot." 

"Hey, it's no problem." Lance gave a modest shrug of his shoulders, although there was a small waver in his voice as well. "Wouldn't want you to forget the time you spent here." 

"I won't," Keith promised, still holding Lance's gaze with as much sincerity as he could convey. "Not ever."

The spell seemed to shatter then, as both of their smiles started to fade. Keith realized that he’d been standing there with Lance much longer than he had with any of the other reporters, and he knew that if he continued to stand there he might raise suspicions even more than he already had.

It almost physically pained him to step back, like he was snapping some invisible cord running between them. Still clutching the envelope in his hands, he searched Lance's face one last time as he tried to commit every detail to memory. 

"Thank you again," he said, "for everything." 

Lance just smiled back at him, although Keith could read the saddened undertones beneath his expression. "Don't mention it." 

Keith could only give another grateful nod, afraid that if he said anything else he might break down. Then finally, he forced himself to turn away. 

He barely registered the next few conversations he went through, as he traveled down the rest of the row. Each handshake and forced smile felt mechanical, like someone else was controlling him. It was almost impossible to pull himself together, to not whirl around and go running back towards Lance again. 

But finally, he got to the end of the line and felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He turned around to see the guard standing behind him, looking at him with a stoic frown. "Your highness, I think it is time for the press to be dismissed." 

Keith felt as if he'd been snapped out of a trance. "Right," he said. "Of course." He looked up to the stage where Coran was still waiting, and gave him a short nod to indicate he was done.

Seeming to take the cue, Coran stepped up to the microphone again. 

"Unfortunately, it is time that we bring the press conference to a close. I want to thank all of you again for attending. Please use the exit at the back of the hall ..." 

He continued speaking, but it faded to the back of Keith's mind. He found himself skimming over the crowd as they began to turn and move away, lowering their notepads and cameras as they filed towards the back of the room.

As if in a trance, he walked a few paces into the midst of the throng, only barely registering the sound of the guard calling after him. His gaze swept over the milling crowd, searching frantically ... but all he saw was a sea of unfamiliar faces, everyone bustling past on their way out. 

Even by the time the hall was nearly empty, Keith was still standing there, scouring his surroundings—but a heavy sinking feeling overtook him as he accepted the painful truth. 

Lance was already gone. 

  


* * *

  


BREAKING NEWS

_The Castle of Lions buzzed with anticipation this morning, as a large crowd gathered to attend Prince Akira's rescheduled press conference._

_After his brief illness yesterday, the prince of Daibazaal now seems to be in good health and assured the crowd that he has made a full recovery._

_Despite his reputation of avoiding the spotlight, Prince Akira stepped up to the podium with confidence and answered the attendees’ questions with an impressive display of patience and poise._

_Amidst rumors that he was involved in a fight at a barge party last night, Akira explained there had been a misunderstanding and that he had acted out of self-defense. “I don't want everyone's impression of me to be of someone irresponsible,” he stated, going on to add, “ I want to keep improving myself so that I can be worthy of [the people’s] respect."_

_More importantly, when asked about the future relationship between Altea and Daibazaal, he expressed deep interest in furthering the alliance between the two nations. After delivering an impassioned speech about facing the countries’ troubled past, he made a promise to learn from history as they continue to move forward. “I have every intention to keep improving the relationship between our two countries,” he said, “not out of guilt, but because I believe in creating a brighter future."_

_In a followup interview with Daybreak News, Princess Allura of Altea expressed her confidence in Akira’s commitment to the alliance: “Although I have only just met Prince Akira, I truly believe every word he spoke earlier today, and I wholeheartedly agree with his sentiments._

_“Although the war is far behind us, there has been tension between Altea and Daibazaal for much too long. Although of course we will certainly not erase that history, we are also a new generation of leaders who aim to forge a new path forward. From this point on, we will work closely together to make our vision a reality.”_

_While the royal families of Altea and Daibazaal have not yet revealed their plans for furthering the alliance, Prince Akira made it clear at the press conference this morning that the two countries intend to repair their relationship—which is a promising start._

_Whatever might lie ahead, it seems there is a bright future for both nations on the horizon._

_Lance McClain,_ National Altean News

  


* * *

  


Lance stood on his balcony, just as the sun was starting to rise over the peaks of the buildings. Golden rays highlighted the rooftops and reflected off the metal street signs. Even this early in the morning, cars rumbled past on the road below and pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks. 

Lance liked to stand out here every morning and just take it in—the stunning view, the sense of energy that permeated the air. But today, as he inhaled deeply, breathing the morning air into his lungs, it felt ... different, somehow. Like he was experiencing the city for the first time. 

It had been a surreal twenty-four hours. After leaving the press conference, Lance had returned to work feeling completely drained. But he’d somehow managed to patch things up with Iverson, and to get the article written by the end of the day. It probably wasn’t his best work—especially since his mind had been scattered in about a million different directions at once—but it had at least been passable, and he hadn’t lost his job over it. 

It probably should have felt like a victory. After everything, he had still managed to attend the press conference and to write an article, even if it wasn't the detailed story he had initially promised. He had gotten to see Keith one more time, even if it had been brief and impersonal.

All things considered, it was probably the best outcome he could have hoped for. And yet ... he couldn't shake away the empty feeling that had enveloped him, like some vital part of himself was missing.

With a long sigh, Lance leaned forward and rested his elbows against the cold metal railing. Somewhere down the street, the sound of a car horn echoed off the sides of the buildings. 

He'd been trying not to torture himself with thoughts about everything that had happened at the press conference, but it was impossible not to dwell on it—replaying it over and over again, dissecting every detail and trying to make sense of it.

It was sort of like trying to remember a dream, the memories distorting and changing every time he recalled them. But he could remember the moment he'd stepped up to ask his question, like it was burned into his mind—the way his heartbeat had been practically roaring in his ears, the disbelieving look on Keith's face. 

He still had no idea how to interpret it all. He wanted to believe that Keith hadn't been upset with him, that they'd at least parted on amicable terms—but instead of the sense of closure he'd been hoping for, he felt like he was only left with a hundred remaining questions. Ones that would probably never be answered.

The thought made something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach, made his eyes sting. Lance blinked a few times to settle the blurriness in his vision, then rubbed at his temples as he tried to get ahold of himself. 

There was really no use in lamenting what could have been—at least, that's what he tried to believe. Especially when it had just been a fling that lasted _one day_. But some traitorous part of his mind kept returning to what Hunk had said the day before, about how it had seemed like he and Keith had a real connection ...

_Stop_ , he told himself firmly. _It doesn't matter._

He needed to do something else to occupy his mind, or he was going to drive himself crazy with these thoughts. Lance turned around, intending to go back inside and find something to do—maybe clean up his apartment, do some laundry, anything that might provide a distraction.

But he froze in his tracks when he heard the distinct sound of a door creaking open. Specifically, the door to his apartment. 

Lance's heart rate shot up as he remained glued to the spot, unsure of what to do. Was someone breaking in? Was it just Hunk dropping by or something? He thought about calling out, but also didn't want to attract the intruder's attention in case they were dangerous …

He held his breath, standing a few feet away from the open sliding door that divided the small balcony from his apartment. The lights were off inside so he couldn't see very clearly from where he stood, but there was definitely a shadow moving near the front door, walking a few slow paces across the room ...

Then, they started to move into the light. 

Lance took a step back, bracing himself, wondering if maybe he should yell for help ... but then, the person was standing right there in the doorway to the balcony. 

And Lance felt as if the ground had dropped from under his feet.

"Hi," Keith said, glancing up at Lance's face before his eyes shied away again. The golden morning light highlighted him in a surreal glow that made Lance even more positive that he must be hallucinating. "Sorry, I ... I wasn't sure if you were here. I would’ve rang the bell to be buzzed in, but someone was walking into the building at the same time as me and I just kinda followed them in. And then I tried knocking on your door but no one answered. So I, uh, kinda let myself in.

"Anyway, I just wanted to drop off the clothes you lent me last night—they're on the table by the front door. I think someone washed them, so—"

"What are you doing here?" Lance blurted, cutting off Keith's nervous rambling. 

Maybe it came out sounding a bit harsher than he had meant it to. Keith winced, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, like he was considering running away. But then he took a hesitant step forward, although he still remained hovering in the doorway. 

Lance could see now that he was dressed casually, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, and he was wearing the red jacket he had gotten from the thrift store two days ago. Some strands of his dark hair fell across one of his eyes, and Lance's instinct was to reach out and brush them out of the way—but his arms remained stiffly at his sides. He couldn't even get himself to move, still half-convinced that he was dreaming and that Keith was about to disappear at any second.

"I'm sorry," Keith said again, and now Lance could hear how his voice was shaking. "I didn't mean to just barge in, and I wish I could've warned you beforehand, or that I had longer to explain myself, but … I had to pull a few strings to even convince my brother and everyone that it would be okay for me to even come here, so I only have a few minutes." 

He stopped, biting his lower lip as he finally looked up again to meet Lance's gaze. "I just felt like I couldn't leave without—without apologizing." 

Lance's brain was still racing to catch up and process this whole situation. Keith was really right there. Standing in the doorway. Talking to him. 

And there were so many things Lance wanted to say, but no words would come out. Finally, as he comprehended what Keith had just said, he blinked in bewilderment. His pulse was still pounding rapidly in his ears but he somehow managed to say faintly, "Apologize ... ? For what?" 

"For lying to you," Keith said. "Or I guess, not _lying_ but just for ... not telling you the truth. About who I am." He spoke each word haltingly, still remaining a few feet away like he was afraid to come any closer. "It was selfish of me, but the whole time I was ... scared, I guess. Of how you would see me. That you might treat me differently, or—I don't know, judge me because I had run away from all my responsibilities. I know now that it was stupid, but—"

"Keith," Lance cut him off. Everything seemed to be snapping into place all of a sudden, like the world was coming into focus right in front of him, like he was finally waking up. He took a cautious step forward, and felt a small thrill of relief behind his sternum when Keith didn't back away. 

He'd already forgotten what he'd been about to say—or maybe he hadn't meant to say anything but Keith's name, like that alone would convince him this was really happening. 

"It's not stupid," he said at last, once he finally found his voice. "I understand why you didn't tell me." 

Keith stiffened, searching Lance's face like he was looking for any sign that he was holding something back. "You do?" 

"Yeah. Like you said, you didn't want it to change how I saw you. I get it." Lance rubbed the back of his neck. "Besides ... it's not like I was totally honest with you, either." 

At that, some of the light faded from Keith's eyes, and something guarded took its place. "Right. About that. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I just—I was wondering ..." 

He hesitated, shoulders rising and falling as he took a deep breath. "Did you know?" he asked at last, his voice going soft. "The whole time, did you ... ?" 

Lance felt as if he'd been dealt a physical blow, and he couldn't even answer at first. He could only take in the sight of Keith's expression—which didn't betray much, but Lance could sense the hurt underneath the question. It made him feel like a hand was tightening around his throat. 

Finally, he nodded—and his guilt only deepened when he heard Keith's small inhale, like he'd been stabbed between the ribs. 

"I didn't know the whole time," Lance said, looking down as he tried to carefully choose his words. "I swear, when I first found you passed out on that park bench, I had no idea who you were. I just thought I was helping out some random stranger. But, well, I figured it out pretty quickly."

He dared to lift his gaze again, and saw that Keith had inched back a little, half his face shrouded in shadow. But at least, he didn't look angry, just ... curious, remaining silent as he waited for Lance to continue.

And, well, there wasn't much point in holding back the truth anymore. Maybe Keith would hate him for it, but ... 

"To be honest, I _was_ going to write an article about you," he went on, avoiding Keith's gaze again. "Not without your permission—not exactly, at least. Like, I figured I'd get to know you first, then later on in the day tell you the truth and ask if you wanted to do an interview or—God, I don't know."

He laughed humorlessly. "Looking back on it now, part of me wonders if I ever was really going to write that article at all. Maybe I ... maybe I just wanted to get to know you. 

"And I know it sounds like I'm just making excuses, and you don't have to believe a word of what I'm saying right now. But the truth is ... the more time I spent with you, the more I forgot about the whole interview thing. I kept putting it off because I knew if I told you the truth, you probably would've run the other way—and I wouldn't have blamed you."

The words were all rushing out of him now at a pace he couldn't stop. Lance still couldn't look up—but in the edge of his vision, he saw Keith move forward a little, easing back into the sunlight. 

"And—and I know it makes me sound like a terrible and selfish person," Lance continued, "but I didn't ... I didn't want you to leave. I didn't want the day to end." 

He finally came to a stop, feeling a bit winded after saying so much in one breath. At last, he lifted his gaze to meet Keith's again, afraid of what he would find there—and was taken aback by the stunned look on Keith's face, at the way his eyes were shining in the golden light. 

Keith took another step forward, moving out of the doorway completely and out onto the balcony. Now that he was in the open, the faint morning breeze stirred in his dark hair. 

"What if," he said, after a long pause, "it didn't have to end?"

Which was ... not what Lance had been expecting to hear. He could only stare back at Keith, mystified, his heart hammering. Out of all the things he could have said in return, the only thing he could manage was a very coherent, "Huh?" 

Now that there was less distance between them, Lance could see the flush that had risen to Keith's face.

"I—I mean," Keith stammered, "obviously the day already ended, but you know, I meant ... metaphorically. What if ..." 

He took a breath and let it out again, shaking his head like he couldn't even believe his own words. "I guess what I mean is ... Shit, this is gonna sound crazy. But what if that didn't have to be the end of it? What if we—What if we got to spend more days together?"

If Lance hadn't already thought he was dreaming, he certainly felt like he was now. Because there was _no way_ Keith was saying what Lance thought he was saying. All he could do was stand there, speechless, waiting for his hopes to be shot down in approximately two seconds. 

"It probably couldn't be right away," Keith went on hastily, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I'm going back to Daibazaal later today, and ... I know it wouldn't be easy since we'd be in different countries. But I do plan on coming back here pretty often now that we've formed this alliance, and—I don't know, maybe there's no chance it'll work, but ..."

Lance moved forward almost without realizing it, like his legs had a mind of their own. He was suddenly standing right in front of Keith, who looked up at him in surprise. 

"Do you ..." Lance's throat felt tight, and he swallowed before trying to speak again. "Do you really mean that?"

Keith looked a bit dazed, but he managed to give a small nod in response. "Yes," he said, continuing to firmly hold Lance's gaze. "I do." 

It didn't even quite register in Lance's mind at first—his ears were still ringing from everything Keith had just said. Then, he could feel a slow smile stretch across his face. A tingling warmth sparked right behind his sternum and spread all the way to his fingertips. 

"Then, yeah. Of _course_ I want that," he said, feeling like the air had been knocked from his lungs. "If you want to make it work, then so do I."

Keith stood up straighter, brightening—like he had never expected Lance to agree to the suggestion. "Yeah?" he said breathlessly. 

"Yeah." Lance bit his lip, feeling like otherwise he might laugh out of sheer incredulity. 

He looked Keith up and down once, before his eyes settled on Keith's again. There was still a small distance between them, and Lance wasn't really sure where to take it from here. 

He cleared his throat. "So ... what do you say?" he said. "Do you want to start over?" He stuck out a hand as if intending for Keith to shake it. 

But Keith took one look at it and then shook his head. The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. "No," he said decisively. "I think I want to continue from where we left off."

Lance raised an eyebrow, lowering his hand again. "Which was ... where, exactly?" 

At that, Keith just huffed out a soft laugh as he stepped forward, placed his hands on Lance's shoulders, and pulled him into a kiss. 

It did feel, in a way, like they really were picking up from where they'd left off—like it was as natural as breathing, like they had both found something they thought they'd lost. 

Lance melted into it easily, like this was something they'd done hundreds of times, eyes closing and hands automatically moving to Keith's waist. At the same time, Keith's arms looped around his neck and pulled them closer together.

Unlike their kisses before, this one didn't feel rushed or desperate. Their movements were slow and languid, their lips meeting at a perfect angle that made Lance's heartbeat stutter as his hands slid around Keith's sides to press against his back. 

He would have been content to stay there for hours, trading gentle kisses in the glowing haze of morning. But finally, Keith broke off the kiss—much to Lance's disappointment—and blinked his eyes open, his dark lashes casting delicate shadows along his cheekbones. Lance was pretty sure he had never seen anything more stunning.

"Uh ..." Keith still had his arms wrapped around Lance, but now he pulled back a little and rested his hands on Lance's shoulders. His face was flushed as he offered a warm but apologetic smile. "As much as I'd like to continue this ... a couple of guards are waiting for me in a car in front of the building, and if I don't show up in the next five minutes, they might run up here and break down the door." 

Lance scoffed, but he still smiled back. "Well, _that_ would certainly be awkward."

He was reluctant to let go, but finally slipped his arms from around Keith's waist. 

"Hey," he said, after a brief silence. "Do you still have a minute to watch the sunrise with me?" He added a wink for good measure—which seemed to be effective, given the way Keith's eyes lit up as he nodded. 

Grinning, Lance took hold of Keith's hand and led him over to the railing. The sun had risen a little higher, highlighting the edges of the buildings and the streets that ran between them like veins. 

They just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, not saying a word—but the quiet felt peaceful, comfortable. _Hopeful_ ,almost. Like a blank page waiting to be filled. 

"When do I get to see you again?" Lance asked.

The question hung in the air before Keith looked up at him, then down again at the busy streets beneath them. "I don't know," he admitted quietly. "Soon, I hope. Things aren't set in stone yet, but I think we're gonna try to be back here sometime next month."

_A month ..._ Lance felt a small twinge of sadness at the thought of having to wait that long. But he supposed that in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't all that bad. Especially because he knew it would be worth it. 

Some of the disappointment must have shown on his face, though, since Keith was regarding him with a concerned expression. He put a hand on Lance’s arm. 

"I know it’s kind of a long time, but … we can exchange numbers, and we can call and text in the meantime. I mean, if—if you want to."

Lance noticed the anxiety on Keith’s face then, and offered him a reassuring smile. "Are you kidding? I’d _love_ that."

"Yeah?" Keith smiled back. "Well … cool." He looked like he was about to say something else, but then stopped as if something had just occurred to him. "Hey, Lance?" 

"Yeah?"

"Just one other thing. This might seem kinda random, but ... next time I'm here, can we go back to the gardens? You know, the one with the wall with all the inscriptions?" 

He peered at Lance expectantly, like there was something important hinging on his answer. 

"Yeah, of course," Lance said, blinking. "Any particular reason why?"

"Because ..." Keith trailed off. He looked out over Altea, smiling knowingly to himself. "My wish came true." 

It took a second for the words to sink in, and then Lance found he was smiling, too. "It did, huh?" he said. He studied Keith's profile, the way the sunlight hit his face, the way he was taking in the scenery with an expression of wonder.

And all of a sudden, a warm sense of certainty settled in Lance's veins. 

He was still smiling as he turned to look towards the horizon, where a flock of birds had just taken flight over the rooftops, and he squeezed Keith's hand. 

"You know,” he said, “I think mine might someday, too."

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> the end! :’) thanks again so much for reading, it truly means a lot. as always, i appreciate all thoughts, comments, and kudos ♡
> 
> i am kinda considering maybeee writing a sequel eventually but no promises yet. but jessie planted the idea in my head and now i’m like HMMMM … guess i will see if that’s a thing people seem interested in, so if you have any thoughts on the matter feel free to lemme know!
> 
> i’m also curious to know what y’all thought keith and lance’s wishes were. it’s something that’s never confirmed in the original movie so i decided to do the same thing and to kinda leave it open to interpretation, although i have my own thoughts… :3c 
> 
> anyway you should definitely go watch “roman holiday” now if you’ve never seen it before (although as i mentioned in my beginning notes, the ending is a lot different than what i went with, so … just putting that out there lol). 
> 
> you can find/follow me in any of the below places! 
> 
> \-- 
> 
> [my other fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstinspace/works) ♡ [tumblr](https://angst-in-space.tumblr.com/) ♡ [twitter](https://twitter.com/angst_in_space) ♡ [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/angst_in_space) ♡ [writing instagram](https://www.instagram.com/angstinspacewrites/)


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